


The Seed of Doubt (DISCONTINUED)

by thebeingunknown



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asexual Spectrum, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Related, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Love, Love Confessions, Original aspects, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, no beta readers we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 55,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeingunknown/pseuds/thebeingunknown
Summary: Vaun was wary of the newest human ally. A girl he'd struck upon in a grisly moment— and which he foolishly involved himself with. His life would prove to become a cautionary tale.Over the years, it seemed as though he'd drifted further and further away from his roots. He had been human once. A living, loving human. At least he figured as such; he had no way of recalling matters of the past. But this had been the present, and with the newest ally's presence in his story, doubts began to rise in him:Just how much of his former humanity had been left?
Relationships: Vaun (The Strain)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is not totally set in the timeline of The Strain. I've shifted the time of the events back a little bit from the show's canon, so what you're reading is happening just a little bit before the main sequence of events in the show. I kind of had to mangle the timeline to make this transition smoothly. 
> 
> It's supposed to be kind of an "alternative" way for the events of the show to have played out, meaning, I've set this story in the relatively early stages of the outbreak in order to explore my own ideas. 
> 
> Anyway, with that out of the way, I hope you can enjoy this. :)  
> I do not own The Strain nor its characters, only my OC.

The _strigoi_ assigned to training the new Sun Hunter was not forgiving. No— he did not relent. He hadn’t wanted to be doing that, but the Ancients word was final. So, without regard to her exhaustion, he pushed her, and pushed her, and pushed her once again until it was officially too much. Vaun observed from the shadows in silence, and eventually, noticed the bruising all around her shoulders from where the _strigoi_ had grabbed her with all his force. She would not be trained in the matter of one-on-one combat with another human; she would be required to hold her own against a feral _strigoi_. They didn’t fight with the technical movements and tactics that humans tried to emulate (though often failed), instead, they come at their prey with unencumbered thoughts and brute force. When needed, they utilized their bodyweight well. The _strigoi_ snarled and ran at her once again, her having just came onto her feet from the previous blow. His stinger unleashed and shot right toward her neck. She stumbled to the side quite ungracefully. Her legs were violently trembling, and Vaughn could see the primal instincts deep in her brain surface every time she faced off with it. _So_ _little agility_. She might just have been one of the more pathetic displays he’d seen in his lifetime. But, at the same time, he was disapproving of this training tactic.

Tackling her and grabbing her over and over again clearly was not working. If she had improved, he couldn’t tell. One thing he could, though, was that she was absolutely exhausted. This tactic of keeping her up all night “training”— more like being a punching bag for this particular _strigoi_ — wasn't efficient. At all. In fact, even he could understand that it wasn’t a smart use of time. Not that he was interested in properly training her to begin with.

He interfered. Stepped into the area and between the two and drove the aggravated _strigoi_ out of the training room with a warning growl. It didn't take much to make him leave.

He looked over his shoulder, turning around to face the girl. She looked a little skinny, like she hadn’t eaten properly for a while. That discontented him a bit. How could she have the energy to fight back if she wasn’t well fed?

She stood tensely and stared back at him. He could sense the discomfort in her demeanor. Whether she was scared of him or just unnerved, he wasn’t totally sure. But he spoke regardless.

“Have you been eating?”

She felt awkward. Uncomfortable. Embarrassed, too. It was hard not to notice him standing back and watching her pathetically try to  
fend off the _strigoi_ who had only a little larger than her. Her face was flushed with heat from all the activity, and, admittedly, the idea of looking stupid. The latter was almost a guarantee.

After a moment, she finally responded quietly, “Been trying to ration what I have.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” he said. “Let me rephrase. Have you eaten recently?”

Her eyes wandered around the room, avoiding his own. He was aware of this habit of hers; the always avoiding eye contact. It was somewhat irritating.  
“I haven’t since last night.”

Vaun sighed. He took the situation seriously. This was not proper conduct for the human allies. She already had foodstuffs with her upon departing with them, but, even then he could tell it wouldn’t last long with how often the humans had to feed. But the other human Sun Hunter was still gone on his own job, and she wasn’t about to ask anyone there to accompany her scavenging outside. It could only be put off for so long, though; she’d have to eventually.

“And how much do you have left currently?” he questioned.

“If I keep this up…three days, sparingly,” she answered.

He contemplated the statement for a second. It was exceedingly dangerous outside, and human allies were few and far between at that point in time. He’d be damned to lose one to an accident while scavenging, of all things. They'd also be hard-pressed to find a replacement.

“I will escort you searching for food, then.”

She looked at him, seemingly a little unsure. “Is it a problem?”

 _Stupid question_. He held back from remarking something she would find rude.

“It is not.”

He witnessed her shoulders finally relax. Her chest slowly pushed out as she exhaled, and her shoulder blades parted. She looked less small not trying to condense herself. Though, she was still a little under a foot shorter than him.

“I will inform the Ancients and come get you when it's time, then,” he said curtly, turning heel and exiting the room. She watched him the whole way. No one had yet regarded her with any amount of care. Her _strigoi_ tormentor certainly hadn’t. But this one seemed different. Behind that unreadable face was a hint of concern that had almost evaded her. Maybe it had been in his voice.

So, with a knock to the metal door, it slowly swung open. The hinges squeaked sloghtly. He scanned the room. The thin blanket she was provided looked to have been thrown across the space. In the corner behind the door, on the humble pallet, he saw the girl half-curled, laying still. With his partial thermal vision, the heat from her body appeared to be hotter than normal. More than a human should be experiencing. He eyed her as he approached with skepticism.

Sure enough, she _was_ hotter than normal. The hand he had very slightly planted on her forehead proved it— she was running quite a hefty fever. He saw the shaking of her body and stepped back quietly, uncertain as to what he should do. Wake her up? Leave her? The humans didn’t run such high temperatures just from physical exertion. Besides, she hadn’t been training recently; the _strigoi_ had finally let up a little after Vaughn's warning.

_Not conducive for training._

After a minute or so of thinking on it, he came to the conclusion that he’d better wake her up and see what’s going on. He didn’t detect any worms under her skin, nor did he sense the virus in her system. If she had, her scent would have shown it. That was good. The _strigoi_ hadn’t somehow gone against the Ancients and infected her. He inspected her skin one last time for good measure, glad to see that she was not host to the parasite. 

He crouched down and put his hand on her shoulder, jostling her. She took a second to respond as she woke up, but, only a second at that. She shot up from her position onto her hands and knees and violently reeled back, hitting the wall behind her. Her eyes were wide and dilated with fear. She couldn’t see his face well in the low lighting of the room, and therefore didn’t recognize the strigoi looming over her. She deflated when he calmly stepped back and allowed her to get a good look at him, now that her eyes had adjusted.

“You scared me,” she muttered breathily as she left her defensive position. She sat back against the wall timidly.

“I apologize. I did not mean to startle you so…intensely.”

She definitely was quick to jump, he could give her that. There might be some potential there. She frightened like a jackrabbit.

“Typically a person wouldn’t take well to a stranger waking them up,” she said timidly, picking at the jagged edge of her nail. She winced at the sharp headache coming on.

He grunted and stood up. “You are running a fever.”

It was like at his words she suddenly realized. She brought a hand up to her forehead and cupped it, a small hiss escaping her mouth. “A bad one.”

“Were you already ill?” he asked. His tone accidentally came off a little more interrogative than he had meant.

“I must have already had it,” she responded with a sigh. “I was already feeling muggy even before you and your friends showed up.”

Vaun wouldn’t have really used the word “friends” to describe the other hunters. They were more like comrades. Comrades, most of which he seldom interacted with outside of duties. There were only a couple he found he tolerated over than the rest.

“I see.”

There was a moment of admittedly awkward silence before she spoke up again, this time questioning him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Just as he was originally, she was skeptical, too.

An annoying question. What had he been doing there? Even he wasn't completely sure of that. Maybe it was boredom. The slow day. It was still nighttime outside of the compound. Not a good time to scavenge, especially for her with her weak night vision. Well, her weakness in general; but he digressed, it would be more of a hassle for him to go out while the _strigoi_ were active as well.

“You haven’t left your quarters in a day,” he said finally. “I was beginning to get curious as to why you haven’t.”

“Trying to sleep, while I can." She shrugged. “And then, this happened,” she grumbled, vaguely gesturing toward her head. He didn’t say anything and simply nodded. He figured her immune system just wasn’t strong enough to right off whatever was assaulting it. Unlike _strigoi_ , humans often fell subject to whatever virus or pathogen was hanging about the environment.

His acute hearing took quick notice of the low rumble in her stomach. She looked away sheepishly, putting her hand over her stomach. He was disgruntled to find that there was almost nothing left in her stash inside the cabinet he looked in. Two tins of sardines, three off syrupy fruit. Some crackers and a protein bar. It was measly, and he knew it. It would have covered three days barely, just as she had said. He sighed quietly and closed the cabinet. “You were correct, it seems.” He slowly approached again and this time, crouched down right in front of her, much closer than last time. “What do you need to make your health sufficient?”

She wracked her brain for a moment. She was doing okay on water; the compound at least had that. She was skeptical of its purity, but, it was potable. She was a little undernourished, yes, but that only helped to make her weak to begin with. She suspected she had the flu, and it had caught up to her.

"We will search near the edge of the dead zones where there is not much activity. If nothing, we will have to turn to the homes."

She nodded and looked down at her lap. Although it was dark, he could see the heat on her face, and subsequently, the sweat running off of her forehead. Her body let loose a sudden shudder, and she grimaced. “This fever...” she trailed off, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back.

Vaun cringed inwardly at the blatant display of her neck right in front of him. His stinger jumped a little in his throat, but he snuffed it out almost immediately. Exposing the most vulnerable part of herself in such a weak state was such a peculiar thing. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that she was coming to trust him, but he reasoned that she must have been positively delirious at that moment.

_Naive._

He quickly stood up and headed to the door, done with the interaction. He couldn’t tame the rattling of the stinger in his throat for long. It had already been excited.

Just before he stepped out, she uttered a “Wait,” standing up from her pallet. He stopped in his tracks and looked back at her. Her shoulder-length hair was bedraggled, and under her eyes he could see the dark rings that had formed.

“My name is Camden,” she added. "Mathers is just my last name." 

The name bounced around in his name for a second. When they had first met her, she was reluctant in telling. She gave them her last name, Mathers, instead. But her first name, had he heard that one before? He certainly had so with “Cameron”, but not this one. He found it interesting in a way, though, he had nothing else to say about it. Only gave her a reaffirming nod and walked out, shutting the door behind himself. Something about the girl’s aura was…different. Not unknown to humans, no, he had encountered people with “different” personalities before. Hers wasn’t particularly remarkable, but the feeling that it burned into the back of his mind kept him up for a while after he had gone to his own quarters. A vivid image of her neck craned up flashed in his mind, to which he again snuffed the thought out. It was unacceptable. People may say, you can think what you want, but you can't act on it. It could have been true, that it was fine as long as he didn't act brashly, or on impulse. But even thinking about it, to him, felt wrong as well. Thoughts led to desires, desires led to action. He wasn't a creature of impulse. Or running on simply instinct; he was more than that. He was a child of the Ancients, bestowed with perhaps one of the biggest honors as a strigoi. It didn't end the primality in the back of his mind, deep in his subconscious where the creature lay. 

It was so bothersome. 

He was done talking. It was time to feed. His throat felt awfully dry, aching to feel the viscous texture of the blood. How when it flooded his senses his stinger excited to be so enthralled, which in turn, excited him. It could have had a mind of its own—he would have sworn it if he hadn't known any better. When hunger began to take over his being, he felt of nothing but the stinger's desperation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment and if you enjoy, leave a kudos! It is a big motivator. :)  
> For me to get better as a writer is important to give criticism. So I you notice any problems don't hesitate to let me know; I want this to be as good as it can be.


	2. Chapter Two

The next morning after her surprise interaction with Vaun, Camden woke up feeling even worse than she had before. Her fever hadn’t gone up, but hadn’t reduced, either. The illness was still going strong, and this time, a bout of nausea even hit her stomach. 

She rose to her feet with creaky joints, opening up her cabinet. The supply was pitiful, really; and despite the churning of her stomach, she couldn’t ignore the hunger any longer. She sat back down with one of the tins of sardines and a pack of crackers, popping open the tin. She didn’t care much of the flavor anymore. Took one out and ate it, bones, head, and all. 

Her stomach argued with her the entire time she ate. She only got through two of the fishes before tossing them aside, already regretting the decision. The crackers were stale and dry. 

While she lay back all foggy-headed, Vaun crept up in her mind. None of the hunters had gone out of their way to interact with her, lest have a conversation. That was the first time she’d done any more than see Vaughn beside the quick exchange they had on the streets outside.

* * *

Camden struggled with her bag. Every time she broke out into a sprint it would bounce with the motion, hitting her back painfully with the metal cans inside. The straps, baring down on her shoulders, had begun to really dig in. Her shoulders, neck, and traps were all especially sore. Never mind to the burning in her legs— she could deal with that. But the backpack was slowing her down. Made her more tired than she should have been. 

She stopped jogging and looked up at the sky, avoiding the sun directly. High noon. Good. She still had plenty of time, given that she didn’t accidentally disturb a nest of sleeping strigoi. They wouldn’t be wandering about that time of day; it was too sunny. So, she slowed her pace and scanned around her. Some of the shop windows and all such lining the street around her were busted in. Some doors were broken down. Others were still intact, with curtains and blinds drawn tight. She'd been hunkered down on her own apartment just like that hours prior. Well, before a straggling strigoi caught wind of her nearby while trying to find shelter from the oncoming sun. It was just about daybreak. 

Vaun slowed his own pace to a trot, looking over his shoulder at the tiring girl. When he realized she was stopping fully, he did so as well, which earned an irritated growl from one of the hunters in front of him. Her endurance would be the first to be worked when they would begin her training. These frequent stops were starting to get on his nerves. He’d been understanding of the first one or two. The trip was a little long. But she kept getting more and more tired, and considerably slowed down the pace. He waited for her to get going again before he realized that the sack on her back was the thing that was wearing her out. 

“Give me it,” he said, motioning for her to hand it to him. She straightened up and looked at him sheepishly. 

“Just let me carry it,” she protested tiredly. “I swear, I'll stay close.”

Vaun found the thought a little admirable. She’d rather bear the weight than hand it off to someone else. In a literal and metaphorical sense as well. 

“If it’s only a little ways back to your car, then I’m carrying it,” she said, straightening up. 

He stared down at her inquisitively. This had been a good sign, in his eyes. Perhaps she could pull her own weight after all. 

They needed capable Daywalkers, and this display lit a small flame of hope in him. It might not be a lost cause and he had started to come to think. If not? She would be a decent feeding for the Ancients. 

The other two hunters were growing increasingly agitated. He kept a close eye on her for a while. Studied her form. A bit short, maybe 5'6", but he had only had himself and other males to compare to. Height wasn’t always a damning variable; it could be worked with regardless. He looked at her legs. Unlike her upper body, they were thicker and had more muscle mass. At least she had something to show for, and that's what mattered. Broad shoulders. With training her upper body strength could be built up, given that she could actually go through with it all the way. 

They came upon the lone black SUV they had left tucked away in a parking garage a few couple of blocks away. One of the hunters popped open the back and yanked her backpack right off of her without warning, tossing it in. She glared at him momentarily as she went around to the other side where Vaughn was already piling into the front passenger seat. 

“Get in,” he said, shutting his door. 

She climbed in and got situated. The atmosphere of the vehicle was uncomfortable. One of the two hunters, this one taller than the rest, was seated opposite to her. She couldn’t help but inwardly gawk at just how much space he actually took up. 

The hunter driving the SUV crawled them out of the parking garage, and when he turned out into the street, Camden slammed into the car door next to her. The hunter had practically floored the gas, and while they were firm in their places, she got jostled and bumped around in her spot as he kept the pace up. After one particularly big bounce, where her hand finally found the handle up by her head, a low chuckle reached her ears. She looked over at the hunter that was driving. The rearview mirror was positioned on her specifically. 

“Could you slow it down?” she asked, irritably, and grunted as he peeled around a corner. 

The hunter laughed once more, and did not, in fact, slow it down. 

_What a knee-slapper._

* * *

Sometimes, you have a bad day. Small inconveniences, things that kept going wrong— the works. If it hadn’t been an invasion of the highest order, it would have been locking her keys in her car. Forgetting her wallet, being late to her job. But it wasn’t. Instead, Murphy's Law was thorough with her. First, the apocalypse comes on; and then, she is forced to wait it out in her janky little apartment. The cell signal was down. She sat on her couch—which was pushed up against her front door—feeling sorry. Sorry for herself, the situation, and most of all, her absence. Her mother and step-father were both living on the far side of the city in the suburbs, too much distance between them to travel safely. She weighed her options. The militia were not doing transports anymore, unless they were grouping civilians. And no car, either; she'd been in the middle of saving up for one when the outbreak hit. That might have been what stung the worst. Sure, if she had actually had one, it probably would have been siphoned, or had its battery stolen. But at least there could have been a chance there. 

She heaved an exhausted sigh and rubbed her face. Her little tabby cat, Lucille, leapt up into her lap and settled, not purring. She was just as stir crazy as Camden was. But she was well fed, at least. There was still an ample amount of cat food in her apartment. 

Stroking Lucille's coarse fur gently, Camden leaned her head back. Her head was _throbbing_. Tension headaches? Stress migraines? It could have been anything, at that point. It paled in comparison to the problems just outside. For the last couple of days, she'd occasionally hear things go bump in the hallway. Upstairs. It wasn't at her door, but she thought she and heard the sound of a violently jiggled doorknob from a few doors down. _Mr. Anderson._ She never checked it out. Her heart races anytime she heard a sound in the hallway. And that's why her door was blocked, with the lounge room window the only viable escape. 

Camden flinched when Lucille suddenly hissed. That fearful, angry hiss that she'd only heard when Lucille could hear something that her human ears couldn't pick up on. She growled lowly and scampered off of her lap, running to the bedroom to hide under the bed as she always did. 

A series of clamorous bangs hit against her door, sending her jumping back in fear. Her lungs had already started to go into overdrive as she desperately searched for something sharp nearby. 

"Please, let me in!" a man outside screamed. "Please!"

Her mind's switch kicked off. She froze. The screaming and wailing of the man only increased as he tried to break her door of its hinges, but was firmly stuck in place because of the couch. The only thing that brought her back was seeing the couch inch forward as he finally kicked the door in, wildly pushing at it to slip in. The creature he had been running from screeched from down the hall. 

"Let me in, I'm fucking begging!" he blubbered. She ran up to the door and unfortunately had to look in in the eye as she did what she did. 

"I'm sorry!" she cried, throwing herself against the couch and door. It slammed shut on one of his fingers, but was pulled out as the creature grabbed him and hauled him back. She didn't stuck around to watch. She barricaded the door further with a loveseat from the corner, and after doing so, ran back to her bedroom and collapsed behind the bed. She tucked herself into the space between her nightstand and the bedframe and sat there for what felt like hours, but was really only twenty minutes. Lucille didn't come out, either—she was too scared herself. So she hid there, in the midst of an oncoming mental breakdown. That was, until she heard her door being manipulated. Hands briefly beat on it, then fumbled with the doorknob. Tried to push on it, judging from the creaking she barely heard. She couldn't stay there. It was no longer safe. Was it ever? There was no life outside of that apartment, or inside. 

But the city held many more opportunities than her apartment did. 

Her hand searched the top of the nightstand for her hair tie. Her last one, stretched and about to snapping point, but was still ol' reliable. She found it and crawled out of her spot, tightly pulling her hair back into a ponytail. The less the creatures had the chance to grab, the better. She hushed up her snivelling, wiped her eyes of the tears blurring them, and got up, creeping back into the lounge. Lucille flashed across her mind—could she even take her? No, she couldn't run with a cat in her arms. The most she could do for her dearest companion was leave her an opening, too. The cat probably had a better chance than she did, Camden thought. So if fate would have it, perhaps she'd find her little tabby again one day. 

She hurried into the kitchen and listened for a moment before she went farther. Any scratching at the door, footsteps or rattles outside. It was unsuspectingly quiet. If the creatures had an intuitive sense of strategy, they were much more intelligent than she'd realized, because the silence of the hallway was much too suspicious. The creatures didn't just give up. They waited it out, or found another entry point. That was she'd heard, and hoped to God that it was only exaggerations. 

Her apartment was a death trap in the making. She was a sitting duck in there.

Her footfalls were as soft as she could make them. She crept past the front door and into the kitchen, where she examined her knife holder. Maybe they would have been useful against a fellow human aggressor. But the creatures were amazingly resistant, a simple stab—unless straight to the head—was not enough to stop them. And to get close enough for that? She might as well have just let the Grim Reaper take her already.

Thoughts growing scrambled, she paced spastically back and forth behind the bar. She rummaged through her drawers and cabinets, hoping to find something to inspire her. Nothing seemed of use. It was all worthless. 

She threw open the last cabinet. A rolling pin fell out with a horribly loud clank on the tile floors, which sent her scrambling down to recover it. She froze in place and trained her ears to what she expected to hear. Still nothing. That made her even more anxious; just where was it? She would rather to have heard it and been able to locate it than nothing at all. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Lucille slinking into the kitchen. She handled the rolling pin and looked over at her. It was quite heavy for what it was, and could likely pack a nasty blow to the head. It wasn't enough, though. If she were to pick anything, she would be better off with one of her longer knives. 

"Baby girl," she muttered sorrowfully, crouching down and petting her head. "I'm sorry. I have to leave, and so do you." 

She knew her words were were falling on deaf ears. It was a cat—of course they were. But something about the oddly "knowing" look in Lucille's eyes made it even harder, even though Camden knew she couldn't have comprehended her words. Cats were mysterious creatures. 

A thump at her living room window made her dart up from her crouch, ducking slightly behind the counter. She strained to peer over the top to see, and for the second time that night, her heart sank low in her body. The zip of a tingle ran down from her chest, her stomach dropped. One of the creatures, staring in through the glass. It knew. Everything about its movements were too purposeful. A breath hitched in her throat. She crouched back below the counter again. It was only a matter of time. She wanted to watch so badly, but the kitchen was visible from the living room window. It kept at thumping on the glass, until finally, it rammed a shoulder straight through, shrilly shattering the window. Her heartbeat ran so wildly that she felt like the creature could hear it from all the way over there. Lucille, supremely terrified, skittered out of the room and disappeared somewhere down the hallway. 

She didn't know this, but it could hear her heart. Very well. 

Hand white-knuckle clutched around the knife, she got ready to spring up if she had to. She heard it jump the sill and its patch through the broken glass, headed toward her spot. 

When it had just come upon her and looked over the counter, rattling away, she flew into it. She didnt have the time nor precision to aim, only a rough guess and a lot of chance. It sunk resistantly into the left portion of its chest and shrieked at the sudden obstruction lodged in its body. It reared back and unhinged its jaw with gross cracks. She whimpered and scrambled to find something, anything to use. The knife was still stuck in its body. 

The rolling pin hit her foot as she took a step back, and without thinking, she snatched it up. The long, wet appendage of the creature's emerged slowly from its mouth. Her arms and hands tensed like vices with what was coming next. The stinger shot out like a dart and knocked the jars resting on the bar over, crashing on the tile. It hauled at her. She swung the solid rolling pin at its head as hard as she possibly could. It struck with a blunt, heavy hit, and almost lost her balance in doing so, but was able to scramble past it in its disorientation. The impact jostled its head so much that for a split second, its lost its sight—its mind blanked. But it recover all too fast and gave chase the very next moment, angrily shrieking as it vaulted over the window sill with much more dexterity than she. 

Her voice caught painfully in her throat as she heard the sound of a gunshot. The bullet whistled as it passed her left, which was shot with such accuracy that she was utterly shocked that it hadn't hit _her._ A

She quickly looked over her shoulder to find that the creature, grey and freshly-turned, had been downed. Beneath its dead body was a host of worms writhing on the concrete next to its head, along with the leakage of milky white blood. It was truly disgusting. And horrifying, too. That could have been her. She could have been one of those so easily if she had not been killed by it in the process. It was a fate worse than death. 

The lump in her throat was too tight to let her swallow properly—she was so dehydrated. It was then that she started to feel the sheer coldness of the outside. It was brisk and dry, but this time, no snow. Her short breaths puffed with spurts of steam as she stood there. 

She wearily looked all around. The alleyways, up and down the streets, the rooftops. There were no more of the creatures there, but that would most likely change within the hour, as twilight was just upon them. As her mind slowed and her thoughts became coherent, she recalled the gunshot she'd heard. It came from...just up ahead, from a street shrouded in shadows. The faint sound of boots found her ears as a tall person, completely outfitted in black, headed her way. In the low light, she couldn’t see their face very well. A hood obscured their features and casted an eerie shadow onto sunken eye sockets. She stepped back hesitantly. Two more black-clad figures rounded the corner from a perpendicular street. They followed closely behind, and didn’t speak. 

She was about to start hightailing it the opposite direction once again when the person held out their hand, signaling for her to stop. 

Her legs stopped with reluctance _. What am I doing?_

She only crept back a little more as the person neared her within five feet. She spat out when he took another step, “That’s close enough!” When he didn't stop, she let loose and animalistic snarl, backpedaling farther. Defensive, yet aggressive. Perhaps it was a good thing. 

Her spine and torso was still shaking. She felt incredibly exposed. 

The person obeyed and stopped in their tracks, lowering their gun. It looked strange to her, like it has been modified in a way she hadn’t seen before. 

“You shot it?” she stuttered out. Her eyes didn’t leave them, and she motioned back at the corpse behind her. "And it's not getting back up?" Her eyes flitted about the area. There were no more of them, at least for now. She was glad to hear the silence of the streets once again. At one time, she craved this kind of quiet; now it seemed more like a foreboding. But it was good. That meant there was nothing around. 

“It's dead."

She studied his face. He could see the fear in her gaze. The hunters behind him kept their weapons at the ready, scanning around them to make sure that no more _strigoi_ were around. This human had been very loud. The nest just nearby surprisingly wasn’t disturbed. The newly-turned were extremely hungry, and incredibly agitated by the painful process of transformation. If the nest had been woken up, they would have had a very tenacious issue on their hands. But night was falling—they would be soon. The retreat of daylight meant all that were hidden in their nests would come out to hunt. He doubted she would hardly make it through the night. 

Her eyes travelled all along him. Mostly stayed on his face, grey and inhuman. He found her especially trained on his mouth. The slits running each side frightened her, along with the pair of sharp incisors lining them. 

“Did it get you?” he asked. 

“I…don't think so,” she said with uncertainty. He gestured for her to step closer. His voice shocked her to some degree. It was otherworldly; deep, and with a dual harmonic. She’d never heard anything like it before. Maybe something similar in movies, but, to hear it in real life came as a surprise. It was clear to her now. 

This was not even remotely a human she was dealing with. 

“Why?” she croaked out, still shaken by all these things coming at her from all angles. Things just kept coming that day. 

“To check.”

She took the first tentative steps forward, and he closed the gap. She didn’t move a muscle as he put his hand on her shoulder, inspecting her neck. She felt especially uncomfortable turning around, and let out a stifled yelp as he pulled he back of her shirt down. The front collar hiked up against her throat. He sniffed about her, which made her briefly wonder if he could actually smell the disease on her. 

_No stings._

Concluded, he pulled away. She only smelled sharply of sweat fear. Not infected, yet. 

He let go of her shoulder. She turned back around to face him, awaiting his response. He saw her eyes were puffed and red from years. Had she noticed that she'd been crying? 

“Not infected. Good,” he muttered. He clicked a few times and looked at the other hunters. They seemed to exchange silent communication, something she couldn’t detect. They clicked and chittered a bit. It sounded purely alien to her, what little she could hear of it. She couldn't see his neck from underneath his clothes, but the noises seemed throaty. 

“The city is becoming overrun,” he said, looking her up and down. “Your military is overwhelmed, and the milita is doing a poor job at staving the outbreak from this area."

That explained it; why she hadn't seen anyone patrolling nor heard the telltale rumble of the military trucks in such a long time. Why there were suddenly so many _strigoi_ out. They'd withdrawn and left her area to fend for itself. It was on the road to becoming a dead zone, and she knew she could not survive if that were the case.

"I didn't know," the girl admitted. 

He hook his head. This girl was pitifully unaware of the situation since the power went down. But fate would have it that they stumbled upon each other at just the right moment. Their last human Sun Hunter had perished to a nest just weeks prior. He died honorably. Though now, they were down to zero able-bodied human allies at their disposal, and that was not ideal. He would proceed to give her an option. Stay in the city streets and likely perish within the next day or two, or come back to the compound to be trained as a Sun Hunter. It was safe there. The feral _strigoi_ of the city hadn’t infiltrated the place. 

It would be a shame to waste such good material. He saw possibilites with the human. Besides—they were in no position to be as picky as they once were. It was a free-for-all, at that point. 

“Come with us.” 

“Who even are you?” she questioned wearily. Her eyes narrowed and brows stitched together. 

The person did not respond for some time. He didn't want to give her what she wanted, but this was no time to be dallying. They’d exterminated the nest, and their job was done. Adjusting his hood once again, he told her his name, and to be quiet. He didn't want to hear any more out of her.

She looked as though she was fixing to turn and hightail it. He knew that—it was that telltale quickening of the heartbeat. He tensing of the muscles. 

Just as she was about to turn, one of the silent hunters stepped forward and roughly grabbed a hold of her arm, yanking her back toward them. "Hey!" she screamed. She tugged and fought back as much as possible; but it was no use. He had an iron grip. He placed another hand at the back of her neck and firmly held her in place. 

"The nests will be active soon. Let's go," Vaun said, already walking away. The hunter still kept a mighty grip on her as they walked along, in which she resisted the whole way through. After a minute, he then asked, lowly, "What is your name?" 

"Mathers. Just call me that." Perhaps it was uselessly childish, but she didn't want to give him her first name. It felt too...personal. 

In the distance, the shrieks of monster and human alike resonated. Glass shattered crisply. The sounds sent an intense shiver crawling up her spine; it really was awful. Then Vaun pulled out his gun and held it up, and the hunters behind him pushed up to make a shield. They would be quick to dispatch any _strigoi_ that they came their way. They were trained apt enough to handle them. The girl held her arms to her chest and sighed with a bit of a shake in her breath. 

She ripped her arm away from the hunter with a strained grunt, the hairs on her arms standing on end at the rumbling growl that left his throat. 

"I can walk by myself," she snapped defensively. 

Vaun stopped and motioned for the hunter to stand down. "Let her," he said, keeping a close eye on the human. "She wouldn't get very far, anyway."

"If you think I'm going to try to book it now of all times, that's ridiculous," the girl retaliated with anxiety. "I'm not so stupid."

Although basically forced, her cooperation was a leap faith in all the senses. She didn't know these people. They weren't like her, and had literally no idea what to expect. But the thing was...it seemed as though anywhere but there was a better option. She wanted to be off the streets so badly. Where could she go if not? Her family lived in the suburbs of New York, far side of the city. That was quite a ways from where she was, especially considering that the roads were so packed with fleeing cars. She doubted she could even get out with all of the traffick jams, and winging it on foot was not an option. Not at all. 

Vaun, he briefly exchanged with the other two hunters about doubling back to her apartment to grab food before they left. They were less than happy to, but ultimately, he was the one calling the shots. 

“You have five minutes to get what you need,” he told her as they made their way back. She led them down the alley way and into the building, where Vaun was immediately on edge. He could sense something that she couldn’t, as could the other hunters. She shut the door and found herself purposefully lagging behind them, Vaun in the front and the two other hunters in front of her. The hairs on her arms and neck stood on end as faint, odd noises came from somewhere in front of then. Little hisses, some rattles. She swallowed hard, but was also silently relieved that the three were in front of her. 

Vaun produced his gun once again and readied it as they rounded the corner. 

A sudden shot rang out in the small space, startling her to oblivion. She jumped and accidentally hit one of the hunters back, who then whipped his head around to give her a soft warning snarl. She backpedaled a few paces.

Up ahead was indeed a dead _strigoi_. Quickly dispatched; Vaun was good with his weapon. The silver lining the shot made the skin of the creature's head sizzle intensely, and the girl unconsciously reached to touch her head where the bullet had hit it. 

She was glad she didn’t see it before, really. Her hands shook. The hunters' backs blocked any view. But as they passed, Vaun steered her clear of the worms wriggling on the ground by grabbing her shoulder and pulling her to his other side, against the wall. Her heart jumped a bit at the sudden contact, and only did did she realize just how hot his body was. The temperature was as inhuman as the rest of him. The inside of the building was cold. Outside was, too— but the three radiated heat intensely. Their bubble felt warm and cramped, even with the crisp bite of cold outside. It made her feel like she was overheating.

“Don’t let the worms get on you.” His words snapped her out of her thoughts. 

_I wasn’t planning on it_. 

She’d always been squeamish about worms, parasites. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she did happen to get one on herself, but the thought was dismissed as they neared her apartment. She found it awkward to maneuver without accidentally bumping the men, brushing against them. 

The two hunters were now behind her, with Vaun still at the front. He instructed her to stay back while he pressed into her little apartment. He checked every room: the lounge, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. It was clear. He motioned for them to come in. “Five minutes.” 

That's all she needed. Everything non-essential would be staying behind, likely to be looted by the other residents or passersby wanting to get ahead. 

All three hunters stood back at the front door with one keeping watch of the hallway. None sensed any more _strigoi_ around, but, that could always change quickly. Any in the area would smell her soon and come to investigate. 

She darted into her room and made a beeline to her closet where she kept her old backpack. I knew this would be handy at some point. She ignored all of the clothes and pulled it out, heading straight into her kitchen. She hadn’t gotten groceries in almost two weeks. Since the outbreak began. But in her pantry was a small supply of extra canned foods. Canned meats, mostly, but also fruit. There was a bag of rice, too. High calorie and quite economic. She stuffed it into the bag, along with everything else. 

“That’s enough,” Vaun called impatiently from the front door. “Leave it. Let’s go.” 

She zipped up the pack and nodded curtly, rumbling to slip the straps on. They were just about to leave for good when a thought suddenly struck her. She was a woman. Sanitary products were hard enough to come by to begin with.

She cringed and stopped, slapping her forehead lightly with her hand. “Hold on,” she groaned embarrassingly, skirting back into her apartment. 

“Stop,” Vaun barked. “Whatever you think you need, you don’t. Now is not the time for this.” 

She ran to her bathroom and flung open her cabinet. Menstrual cup, as embarrassing as that was. 

“You wouldn’t get it,” she said just loudly enough for them to hear. Her backpack shifted annoyingly with every movement. From the floor above her, she could hear one of her neighbors tamping around. Hurried footsteps, like they were getting ready to thunder out of there too. The hunters heard this and grew more anxious to just leave. There was no sense in more humans catching wind of them, and this one seemed close. No more distractions. 

Vaun glared at her as she squeezed between him and the doorframe. She caught a small scent of his tactical clothes. It was odd, to say the least. A little bit musty. 

He pushed her along behind the other hunters, annoyed. Whether this human was a waste of time or not was debatable. Only time itself would tell. 

But for then, it was time to bounce. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The formatting of time in this chapter is a bit odd. I kinda messed up on that one haha, but, I hope it's clear enough to tell what's going on.


	3. Chapter Three

Vaun returned to her chamber the next day, hoping to find her more rested. She’d slept like a rock through the rest of the night. When he came in that morning, he found her already awake. She had tried to hide the small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth by rubbing her face, but Vaun had already seen it. He didn't press on it. He stood in front of the pallet and waited for her to say something about herself. She just stared up at him with an awkward expression. 

“Your temperature hasn’t gone down,” he stated obviously. 

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

He hummed and glanced over at her cabinet, which was open. None of the food inside had been touched, save for the tin of no longer good sardines discarded near the pallet. 

“Have you eaten at all?” he asked, eyeing the tin skeptically. One way or another he'd have to get her to eat; it was imperative. He didn't bring her all the there for nothing, he was going to make his effort worth it. He wanted to build her up from this little...thing into someone strong and steady-minded. And to do that, she'd have to eat so they could get on with it.

Just as had thought, she shook her head. “I haven’t.” 

Disgruntled, a frown crept onto his face. “You need to.” 

“Lost my appetite,” she said irritably. Her mood was definitely subject to quick fluctuations, at least in her current state. “I’m just not hungry. Please stop bothering me about it.” 

Vaun stood up without a word and went to the cabinet, pulling out a can of mixed fruit. She watched him wonderingly. Surely he wasn’t going to eat it himself. His reaction said it all too clear when he opened it up; she could see the slight scrunch of his face. The smell assaulted his sensitive nose. 

No strigoi would ever even consider consuming this. 

Still, he powered through the awfully artificial smell and marched it over to her. He handed it to her, “Just half of it. You can do at least that.” He waited expectantly for her to get at it, but was met with her simply staring at the contents. She set it aside dissmissely. 

“I told you, I've lost my appetite,” she repeated with defiance. Her body language said the opposite. 

Vaun was getting more annoyed. Regardless of whether a being wanted to eat or not, it still has to. Does she think that Vaun truly wants to feed off of the humans? He has to whether he does or not. 

Same thing for her. 

So, without a warning, he crouched down, taking the can up. He wrapped a hand underneath the base of her neck and had a loose grip on a chunk of her hair, all the while she argued, pulling and clawing at his arms. It did nothing to pry him off. 

“If you won’t, I’ll do it for you,” he chastised, tilting her head back. Her mouth opened to utter a protest, and he took the opportunity. Grabbed up under her chin (careful not to be too forceful) and kept it open. He poured some of the contents in, until she finally relented in fighting back. Not choking was more of a task when she thrashed. 

When he pulled away, she gave his shoulders a hard shove, angered by the sudden display of force. 

“I told you,” he warbled. “Will you be willing to cooperate now, or do I have to do that again?” 

She finished swallowing the mouthful, face tense with agitation. He was about to grab the can again when she quickly pushed his arm away, to which he held up his hands and stepped back. He had a look of satisfaction. 

“I’ll do it myself,” she grumbled. Her head hung a bit in embarrassment. She’d never have expected that he’d do that. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. “But do me a favor, please,” she started, wiping her mouth of some syrup. Her cheeks exposed a trace amount of heat. 

He raised his brow ridges curiously as he looked down at her. 

“Never do that again.” 

He couldn’t stop the chuckle from leaving his mouth. She’d know now that he didn’t play around with things like this. He’d force-feed her the rest if it meant she would actually eat

“As you wish,” he responded. “I won’t if you don’t make me.” 

To her dismay, he insisted on staying until she'd finished off the rest of the can, along with some of the chicken. She questioned him as to why they hadn’t already a supply of food for the humans that had been there before her, forgetting about the one they were currently unable to track. He responded quickly and didn’t let her realize his gears turning to come up with an excuse for the moment that they did. Still, she bought it unhesitatingly, which made Vaun feel a little less “out there”. Newcomers weren’t often treated with full disclosure, not until they felt they could trust them. 

He didn't want to divulge the fact that the human ally was not actually a job. He'd snuck into the storage room while no one was looking and took off with a duffle full of food and what little medicine they had. Mostly ibuprofen, Benadryl. She could have used either one of those right about then.

After he'd received news of his beloved ally dying by a strigoi, he fled. Simply fled. He no longer considered their deals anymore, his ties to the Ancients and the hunters. Once he lost in anchor in this world, suddenly, that didn't matter anymore. He acted selfishly from their perspectives.

And that was the flaw with the humans (at least in Vaun's eyes); they were always in a state of fluctuation. One rarely had their mind concluded, and even then, it could be easily shifted. Manipulated. Perhaps with their true freedom of mind came that burden, as well. Vaun and the other hunters didn’t have to work with that aspect of living. Not totally. It was unnecessary hindrance, and a particularly persistent one, at that. 

Love and affection tended to drag all down with it. 

His mind wandered through his thoughts. She’d fallen silent and for once was the one to observe him. There wasn’t much to see behind that face. It was impassive, and she found the almost unreadable quality to be a nuisance, in a way. Whatever was going on in that head of his was really weighing down on his mind.

She decided the weird silence had become too much. She spoke up, taking him out of his mind, “You there?” He looked over at her absentmindedly. Her eyes, slim and dark fell on his. Although the whites were as bright as a human's were, the color of her irises weren’t so unlike his. He passingly wondered if she was disturbed by his looks. 

“Thinking of something.”

She didn’t seem to be. That was good, he reckoned. 

He averted his eyes, that time. Not in a flighty manner, as she did; it was slow and thoughtful. He turned his head to look forward at the opposite wall, silently battling with the growing discomfort in the atmosphere. 

She didn’t react as he abruptly stood up. 

“Bye,” she said. She expected an answer, but he only answered with a dismissive hum, shutting the door behind himself as he left.   
“Well, then,” she sighed. She looked about the room thoughtlessly. It was weird not having any windows. That was what she always took to in order to quickly tell the time. But the room itself was even lesser, looking as though the compound was an old war base or something. Metal doors, single lightbulbs casting soft yello light from the ceiling. Almost bare, being that the only “furnishing” was the pathetic little pallet on the ground and the cabinet across the room. 

A pang of nausea washed over her stomach. The food was not agreeing with her, but all attempts to empty were nothing but fruitless spells of heaving into a bucket in the corner. She groaned and lay back down onto the flat pallet, not impressed by its sheer discomfort. 

She hoped that she’d be better by morning so Vaun and her could fetch the medicine, because this sickness was really starting to get tiring.

Vaun walked the halls of the compound with no specific destination in mind. He wasn’t tired, not was he hungry. He’d fed just the other night after holding out for two week. Unlike his brother in arms Quinlan, he didn’t muddle over it afterwards. It was needed in order to survive, and those like Quinlan who felt such a visceral disgust for themselves for doing it were, dare he think, weak.   
Quinlan would probably kill him for that one, had he said it out loud. 

But the half-breed was put away in their Records Library, where he generally went to avoid engaging with the others too much. Vaun knew he’d find him there. 

He approached the doors and planted a sturdy palm on one, pushing it open. He hummed and sauntered into the room. Quinlan was immediate to notice his presence, and he quickly put down the book he was inspecting, lifting his gaze up to look at Vaun. 

“You spend a lot of time in here,” Vaun commented as he wandered about the rows of shelves. “Do you not care much to see the new ally? You haven’t come out once to greet her.” 

Vaun asked despite knowing full-well what the answer was. No, Quinlan did not want to greet the newcomer. She was not there to be trained for clearing strigoi nests specifically, and therefore didn’t see the purpose in introducing himself. The deals with a particular gang within the city for cargo movement hadn’t been sealed quite yet, though their abundance of vehicles and access to a network of supply chains would benefit the Hunters and their cause greatly. 

Quinlan shoved away the book into its place on a shelf and looked at him flatly. “Why do you ask such questions if you know the answer?” 

Vaun returned the look, neutral faced. “This is unlike you,” he said bluntly. “Usually you are eager to come and show the new ones who here are the inferiors.”

Quinlan shook his head and growled softly. “I have no reservations with the girl.” 

“No qualms with her condition, even?” Vaun slightly raised a brow. 

“What of her 'condition'? I thought you knew better than to take in diseased humans. Or are your senses that unreliable?” he asked sharply. 

Vaun felt a wash of agitation at Quinlan's condescending tone. His nostrils flared slightly as he spoke, “She must have contracted it the night of. There was nothing to pick up on.” Vaun hid his offense taken at Quinlan's comment. No, his senses were keen. If she had not been so newly infected, he’d have smelled it on her. 

Vaun couldn’t deny that it was an unfortunate occurrence for them and their conduct. Quinlan himself knew all too well how long a sickness can last with the humans, ans how much they can wreak havoc on their bodies. 

_They are so vulnerable._

“I’m escorting her tomorrow to find medicine for the fevers,” Vaun said plainly after a few moments of silence. Quinlan gave him a cynical look. “Seeing as Johnson has stolen all of our stash and fled.” With the words, his face revealed a developing scowl.

Quinlan waved his hand and looked away as if to say whatever. “Waste of time and resources,” he remarked. “She was clearly faring on her own before, seeing as the city's now the infected's domain.” He stopped to think for a second while Vaun was coming up with his own answer, and before he could say anything, added, “Also, you are a fool to think you will find any medicine left in the city. Looters will have picked it clean by now.” 

Vaun's stinger rattled. “She was fixing to be turned, you know,” he started, resuming his pacing around the room. “Just one more drop in the sea of infected over there.” Quinlan merely grunted uninterestedly in response. In truth he wouldn’t usually be this callous, but this time around, he made sure not to get emotionally involved with the likes of women. When you’ve lived for so long, matters of the heart only become an obstacle in daily life. He’d experienced how easy a simple act of kindness or generosity, a few words, could snowball into infatuation. Affections. Not necessarily always on his end, but, a few had slipped past his defenses before. He’d been weak to the lure, those times. 

And Quinlan was tired of that. 

So he stood up from his chair and told Vaun to end the conversation, “She is your responsibility.” 

Vaun was fine with that answer. He knew that it wasn’t completely true; he wasn’t the one actually training her. The dirty work would be left to Lar. He’d do this favor for Camden once, and when she’s better? She takes care of herself.   
If she had survived that long so far, was that not indicative of her ability to do so? 

Vaun only visited her chamber the next day once, just to see if she was able to make herself get up. She had been, though a bit clumsy from a bout of light-headedness, he judged she was good enough to go on a small excursion. They’d travel to a dead zone within the city and scavenge there; most humans were rallied in the safe zones, where military regularly patrolled. Only sparse pockets of people—mostly gangs looking for a place to hole up while they get their order resolved—inhabited the dead zones. They had once been crawling with strigoi, and still were, to some degree, but the people who did reside there had taken care of a portion of them. 

For once, criminals actually served a better purpose. The strigoi and gangs would likely cancel each other out at some point, either allowing the general populous to start relocate there once more, or simply abandoning it to be left to time. Almost no one ventured there, between the gang activity and strigoi nests. 

If they were lucky, they’d find some drugstore or tiny convenience shop tucked away somewhere. He’d encountered those before, little stores that hadn’t been totally looted yet because they were in such inconspicuous spots that no one would have bothered to check there. 

He informed her of their leaving and left her to get ready. She grabbed her jacket, heavy and lined with fleece, and laced up her boots. The sole was starting to peel away from the tip of the shoe. Her fever had gone down slightly, and both she and Vaun decided to pounce on the chance to get out and find some medicine. She finished dressing and exited her chamber. Vaun leaned against the wall next to her door. 

She was having trouble finding something to say. She was anxious about going, really—coming to the compound was the first time in a while that she’d felt truly safe. Her apartment was not fortified in the slightest, and has always been a source of anxiety in regards to the escalating conditions outside. Still, she put on a straight face and tried to stand tall, unknowingly following Vaun's example.   
He noted that she wasn’t whining or complaining. In fact, she hadn’t at all since she arrived at the compound. Whether she was getting a beat-down by Lar or dealing with an unyielding fever, he hadn’t heard a peep of her yet. 

That was uncommon of amongst the humans he’d engaged with. Even with hardened human allies they’d banded with, they tended to complain and badger on the conditions of the compound, the people in the compound, and even some of the more miniscule things. At least at first; both he and Quinlan made haste in knocking that habit out of them. 

Maybe there was a little more dignity to her, after all. 

“Are you ready?” he asked out of courtesy. 

She blew out a breath between her lips and peered about the hall. It was dim, with rows of doors lining either side. “I suppose I am.” 

That had been a half-truth. When is anyone really ready? 

“You’re hesitating,” Vaun retorted. He’d caught onto her anxiety. He continued, adding for it to sink in, “Hesitating will get you and possibly others killed.” 

She didn’t have to worry about him. But he found it a useful trick to bring in others when dealing with an individual like this. It often made humans uncomfortable at the thought of being the cause of another's death, especially of there were no excuses other than “I hesitated because I was weak.” 

She chewed on the inside of her mouth. Odd behavior, but nonetheless, Vaun knew his warning had gotten to her. That was a good thing.

“I’ll try not to,” she said softly. 

He pulled away from the wall and stood just before her, her height only reaching to the base of his neck. She kept her eyes trained on the ground behind him. “You won't try, you will _do_. Chin up.”

Although he had taken an authoritative tone with her, instead of feeling vindicated, in a strange way it gave her a little confidence. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she believed she could count on his steadfastness when it mattered. The only thing picking at her mind was the fact that she wasn’t sure if he had confidence in her, and for some reason, that was a big bother. She lifted her head up. 

“You lead the way, then.”


	4. Chapter Four

Vaun had taken the liberty to give her a weapon before they departed. A small handgun, which he had to briefly show her how to use properly. It wasn’t much, but, it would do if it were a desperate moment. He had his own gun outfitted to actually kill a strigoi, anyway; he doubted that she’d have to use it, with him around.

Still, he made sure she knew where the safety was, how to hold it. Where to aim if push came to shove and she had to. He could sense her nervousness with the firearm, which surprised him a little as he wasn’t sure how she made it that long without one. Had she really stayed in her apartment that whole time? He would have to ask her later, because that partially vexed him. 

“Keep it at your side unless I say otherwise,” he said, lowering her arm. She nodded and slipped it into its holster. 

She didn’t want to voice her uncertainty with the gun. She’d never fired one, and has little confidence in her ability to actually hit a target. But she kept that one to herself as they left the compound, her mind jumping to all sorts of bad scenarios. 

A black car pulled up, driven by another hunter. Vaun regarded him at the window and told him where to take them, to which he obliged without any word on it. She and Vaun piled in, him at the front passenger, and her in the back. The gun at her hip felt uncomfortable. Every time she glanced down at it her heart jumped a little bit, as if she was caught off-guard by it every time. They peeled out and away from the compound, and as they approached the outermost dead zone of the city, came to a crawl. There was glass, debris, and sometimes a body littered about the road. The silent hunter up front said nothing as he steered them around the problem areas. 

The city seemed quiet where they drove by. There were no people walking the sidewalks as they would in the safe zones, and no _strigoi_ wandering due to high noon overhead. It was the perfect condition, in truth; Vaun was glad for that. Perhaps of they were lucky, they’d be able to be in and out without a problem. He watched the back streets and alleyways carefully as they drove through them, searching for one of the aforementioned shops he was looking out for. None so far. He didn’t exactly want to traverse those places on foot with Camden in tow, they tended to be shaded by the buildings, which spelled straggling _strigoi_ hidden in their shadows. The ones that hadn’t made it into proper shelter before sun-up and were stuck hibernating in whatever shade they could find. 

“Looks to be quiet,” Vaun commented. 

“This is strange,” Camden said uneasily. “I haven’t seen such empty streets since…” She trailed off into a mumble as she looked out of the window. She was searching for something that would suggest people or creatures nearby—but didn’t detect anything. It truly did feel deserted, but she knew that wasn’t the case. The creatures were in hiding for the daytime, and the few groups of humans were probably holed up in their own keeps, too. 

Vaun's interest was piqued at what she said. He hadn’t seen such quiet streets outside of the dead zones himself. “Since what?” he asked curiously. 

She took her eyes off the window. “Well, since lockdown,” she explained. “When the outbreak was getting really bad and we were quarantined.” 

“Ah.” They creeped past a certain little street that caught Vaun's attention, and he told the driver to stop. He pulled them up to the sidewalk and unlocked the doors, allowing Vaun to step out. He pulled his hood down tight to his face. 

He surveyed the area for a moment. There weren’t any strigoi hiding there, as far as he could tell. He didn’t smell the ammonia they secreted, which was always a telltale sign of their presence. He thumped Camden's car door and motioned for her to get out. When she did, she felt relieved. The sun on her face felt especially nice after being cooped up in her chamber within the compound. Vaun studied her out of the corner of his eye. He’d never bask in the sun as she would. He also saw how her skin looked so pale from the overexposure of the sunlight, skin that normally looked to be a medium tan. That was curious, but he didn’t say anything on it, and instead led her down the the narrow street. 

She let out a contented with and followed him. This was a remote part of the city. It was such a mundane spot that she felt like she was exploring a whole new place. Well, she technically was; but she’d never explored such a random spot as this. She wondered who would ever set up shop there. Even before the outbreak, who went there? 

Vaun looked over at her, “Do not make too much noise. They're attracted to it.”   
She suddenly became aware of everywhere she was stepping. Sidestepping, she caught her foot just before it knocked on a metal trashcan that had toppled over. 

They made their way down the street. He could tell Camden wasn’t feeling super comfortable, the way she’d glance back every other minute. He didn’t know what she could be so concerned about, the car was still there and no strigoi would have been bold enough to enter the street from broad daylight out there. Maybe she was worried about other humans, but she hadn’t needed to be; Vaun would have heard or smelled them before they got too close. 

“Why are you so on edge?” he questioned her as she took another look behind them. He knew no one was waiting around the corner for them, but, he kept his voice down anyway. 

“Just…nervous,” she said. “I don't know this area.” 

He stopped and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. He was getting tired of her constant anxiety. It was a liability. There was no reason to be so jittery when there was no threat around and he was there. “I will know if someone is coming, I assure you. You can stop being so anxious.” 

“Will you?” 

He huffed at her lack of faith in him. “My hearing and sense of smell far surpasses your own. I will know, trust me.”   
His hand released her shoulder, and they resumed walking. Just as he had hoped to, they came upon a tiny convenience store tucked away in a strip center. The windows were barred with sturdy metal rods, and when he tried the door, it wasn't locked. Good. I don’t have to bust the glass. 

“I’m a bit envious of you,” she rambled absentmindedly as she looked in through the window. “You're so strong, and even have amazing senses.”

Vaun shook his head. “You do not want to be like me.” 

The look her gave her told her not to drag out the issue further. She wanted to ask more—to know more about him and his kind. But she respected his space, and so she dropped it. Maybe later one he’d be more open to discussing it. 

She looked the store up and down skeptically. It was dingy, kind of rinky-dink. But, Vaun seemed to know what he was looking for. He took his place in front of her and swung the door open, peering around it to see the back wall. 

A faint smell of ammonia hit him. That wasn’t a good sign. 

“Stay close to me,” he whispered, stepping farther into the store. There were a few humble rows of shelves, which shockingly, weren’t looted. The owner must have taken his share and not come back. 

“What's wrong?” she asked tentatively. He pulled his gun and slowly crept up to the counter, looking over it. Nothing. 

The smell grew stronger as they neared a door, broken off its hinges, that presumably led to the backroom. It looked to have been knocked down. He said to her without taking his eyes off of it, “Stay back here.” 

Her hand instinctively found its way to the gun on her hip. She pulled it out slowly and held it down, backing away from the counter.

He vaulted it and steadied his gun. There was a very narrow hallway, a door to the left, and an open room at the back. She backed up all the way to the far corner of the shop, and from that angle, couldn’t see down the hallway. 

Vaun eyed the backroom from where he was. The smell was strongest there, undeniable. He ignored the shut door to his left and pressed into the room, where his suspicious were confirmed. 

One lone strigoi slowly ambling about the room, unstimulated. It seemed to have once been a man. 

He didn’t give it time to react as it was alerted by the sounds of his clothes shifting. He quickly took aim on its head and fired without hesitation, dropping the strigoi. The gunshot made Camden nearly jump out of her skin, and in a second she had hurried over the counter to find Vaun. He emerged from the backroom, reloading his weapon and stiff-armed her back and away from the hall. 

“I told you to stay back,” he glowered. _Foolish girl._ “How would you have known if it wasn’t dead?” 

She stammered in trying to find a response. “I was just-“ 

“When I tell you to stay back, you stay back. Don’t do this again," he scolded.

She bit the inside of her cheek and put her handgun away, feeling like a child again. Just then a heavy thud rammed against the closed door in the hallway, and she yelped, backpedaling. Vaun whipped around with his gun as the door busted right off its hinges, falling right onto him and forcing him back against the wall. He dropped his gun to push it off of him.

A huge _strigoi_ burst from the room. For a second it remained pressed against the door and Vaun, until it snapped its head to the side and spotted Camden. It bested the doorway's height, and then some. 

“Vaun!” she shrieked shrilly. It lunged toward her with a ghastly screech, extending its stinger. It ran wildly through the hall as she scrambles over the counter. Vaun threw the door aside and hurriedly picked up his gun. His first shot missed, whizzing past Camden's head and impacting with the glass window up front. It shattered as she threw herself at the front door. 

The _strigoi_ hissed again and tried once more at landing a sting on her, but was interrupted by Vaun slamming the butt of his gun on the back of its head. The bone caved and spilled a few worms and white blood. 

Camden, in her primal frenzy, stumbled out into the street snd whipped out her gun. She didn’t even think about it— aimed as best she could with her violently shaking hands and pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession. Both hit the strigoi's massive torso and sent it onto its knees briefly, where Vaun delivered the finishing blow with his own gun. 

With the last shot, it finally slumped over. Camden backed up against the brick wall behind her and dropped her gun uncaringly. Her body wracked with trembles from the shock, which made it hard for her to stand—but she remained as upright as she could, using the wall behind her for balance. Vaun kicked the door open and stepped out. 

He’d sworn the _strigoi_ had stung her. He thought he saw it strike her when she was against the glass, so he approached her quivering form and gently pulled her over to him so he could get a look. 

She didn’t move or react as he pushed her hair aside and inspected her neck as he did the night he found her. He felt silently relieved that no, she hadn’t been stung. He ran his fingers across the back of her neck and shoulders for good measure, making completely sure that there were no puncture marks. There weren’t. 

_You are incredibly lucky._

He let out a breath and found her gun discarded a foot away, tucking it back into her holster. The hunter driving the car came to investigate all of the commotion. 

“It’s okay,” he called out. The hunter put his weapon away and turned back mid-step. He’d been ready to engage if he heard things get ugly, but was late to the action regardless. Vaun turned his attention back to Camden. 

“You’re alright,” he said softly. “It's okay now. It's dead.” 

She took a deep inhale and then exhaled shakily. “I almost died.” 

_Perhaps. Or you would have been turned._ Vaun kept that to himself. He was glad he didn’t have to release her, but he’d been ready to pike her if it had come to that. But here she was, still alive and still kicking. Barely, though. 

He scanned around them to be certain that none of the locals came to see what all the fuss was. Thankfully, no one had come, yet.

That might have changed soon. 

“Come on, let us get what he came here for,” he nudged her, pulling her by her upper arm back into the store. He planted a heavy shove with his foot on the strigoi's body to get it out of the way, squishing a couple of worms while he was at it. She pulled the rucksack he’d given her off her shoulder and began walking along the isles. All in all, it was a good haul. She found some nonperishables, along with protein bars and with things she could eat soon. As hoped, there were a few bottles of non-perscription Ibuprofen stashed near the counter as well. The owner must have suffered frequent headaches, but that was a stroke of luck for her. To her surprise she even found a bag of caramels hidden behind the counter, and a couple of pots of unopened Carmex strewn on the floor. She swiped one of the multi-tool knives on display on her way out. 

The adrenaline had finally begun to ware off by the time they were ready to leave. They made their way back to the car around the corner, and she practically fell into it. It felt good to be in it where she knew she was safe. 

“Let's go,” he told the driver. Soon enough, they were leaving the dead zone just as it struck about one in the afternoon. They arrived back at the compound a little while later, which Camden was eager for. She was about to head straight to her chamber before a thought hit her. She hadn’t thanked Vaun for saving her life twice now. How had she forgotten? She caught him on his way back to his own chamber and stopped him with a tap on the shoulder. “I wanted to say thank you,” she said in earnest. “This is the second time you’ve saved my ass.” 

He turned to her as he opened up his door. He was never able to get used to being thanked, for anything. He did what the Ancients asked of him, and that was that. He did what he needed to do. But to be thanked so genuinely opened up to a new type of feeling. He wasn’t sure what exactly that was. There was no way to label it, but, it was there. 

“I simply did what was required.” 

“It’s more than that,” she argued. “You didn’t even have to go with me to begin with. You could have been…callous.” She half-way muttered the last part. It had been a while since she’d been shown generosity, regardless of what form it was in. It was almost strange for such human behavior to come from someone like Vaun, who looked so different.

He didn’t know what to say, after that. How do you respond? She was adamant on her sentiment. 

"You are welcome.” 

There it was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said it, if ever. Surely he had, but it was alluding him at that moment. To alleviate some of the awkward feeling, he saved face and instructed her where the showers were, and that he recommended she’d use them. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Do I stink?”   
_Maybe that was not the best diversion._

“No. But you should, perhaps it would relax you.” 

And with that, he entered his chamber and shut the door, leaving her alone in the hall. He stopped and listened closely until he had heard her footsteps retreating, and then stripped of his overcoat. He put his gun away in his weapons' cabinet and sat down on his pallet, contemplating on their last interaction. 

Camden unloaded the rucksack and put everything away in her cabinet. It was good to see it stocked; it made her feel relieved. She wouldn’t have to go scavenging for a while. It was doubtful that they’d find such luck anywhere else, though, they’d have to try again at some point. She wondered passively what she would do once the area had been picked clean. Food was already hard to come by, and it was just going to get harder from there. 

She’d just have to burn that bridge when she got there. But for then, a shower really did sound nice. She thought back on the instructions he gave her to find it, and eventually, after wandering the empty halls, and found it. It had multiple showers, all with doors instead of curtains. Tile floors. There was a bit of mildew forming in the grout near the ceiling. She found a stall near the back and got undressed. When she turned the knob she got assaulted with a blast of cold water. “Shit,” she hissed. She tried the other knob and waited out of the way until she felt it get warm. 

Her water had been shut off two weeks prior. There was no longer electricity routed to the outskirts of the safe zone. She had to rely on boiling water over a fire in the street outside, where she then had to haul it back into her apartment. She and her few neighbors generally congregated around the fire they had going in a barrel just outside the back of the building. 

It had been December twelfth last time she’d checked her calendar, but, after a while it felt pretty meaningless. The only reminder of the upcoming holiday were the people who tried to cope by singing jingles of the past. 

At that point, to her, it didn’t matter if it were the fourth of July or Christmas Day; it was still hell in New York City. 


	5. Chapter Five

Camden hadn’t realized how much the day before wore her out. Her body felt incredibly achy and exhausted from their trip into the city, and she woke up that morning with a raging headache. The fever had come back. The inside of her ears felt pressurized and blocked by the sinus drainage. 

She popped two of the Ibuprofen. Though, while she ate some of the jerky she’d picked up, her stomach didn't protest as much. That was good. She glanced at the clock on the wall, which read nine AM. While she was finding it hard to fully recall, if memory served her right, after she was done in the showers she conked right out on her pallet. Her hair, being thick, still felt slightly damp. 

Throwing her blanket off, she stood up and immediately noticed that she'd stripped of all her clothes off at some point. She saw her shirt buried partially underneath the covers and picked it up. 

The smell of sweat hit her nose as she brought it up close to her face. Now, she wasn’t sure if Vaun had lied to her and said that she didn’t stink to not be crude. Either way, she scrunches her nose and dropped the article of clothing. She hadn’t brought anything else from her apartment beside undergarments, everything else took up too much space. Was there even a way to wash them in the compound? If not, the showers would have to do. 

Her mind felt a little bit drifty as she stood. For some reason, she had halfway expected Vaun to come that morning, but he hadn’t. At least not yet. She got used to his visits, so it felt weird to be so lonesome in her chamber. 

Bored, she lay back down on her pallet and stared up at the ceiling. Reality hadn’t really clicked with her until just then—what was she doing there? What then, now that she somewhere safe? Things started to feel further and further away. She remembered her previous life before the outbreak. It had substance and depth. She had a light in her then, and she only knew it when it had been snuffed out. Her spirits, she reckoned; she'd felt like they'd diminished. And despite living alone in her little apartment with her little tabby Lucille, she thought back fondly on the times she brought people home for company. Someone she’d met at her work in the diner, or a friend of a friend who didn’t want an empty bed that night. It was never a huge deal, but, it was always fun. She made friends of some of those people. But while she lay in her chamber feeling alone as ever, the rest of the aspects of her life can to mind. Not just the people, but the places and the experiences as well. Was there such a thing as travelling anymore? Maybe within the country. International and transcontinental flights were strictly banned for an indefinite amount of time. 

What about the little things? Those were what mattered most to her in life, after all. But with the way her world was now was that every decision was a big one. Or it felt like it, at least. Everything centered around survival. There wasn’t much in the way of simply acting out of pleasure anymore, nor activities she enjoyed. She was a person of many facets, more of a jack of all trades rather than a master of one. She liked to paint here an there, she liked to hike the woods. She liked play games on her console and liked to watch movies. Cooking and baking, amateur sewing with her friends. Most of those options were gone. So what was life now that the outbreak had gone so far? Just surviving? It didn’t feel like thriving as it once did. And that planted the seed of melancholy in her mind. 

She was beginning to doze back off into sleep when the sudden sound of the door opening startled her back awake. Vaun poked his head in and looked straight at her, and she cried embarrassingly “Look away!”. 

Vaun heard her and dipped. He wasn’t a stranger to the human body, nor was he bashful, but he knew they were. To be polite he swiftly shut the door and stayed in the hallway, waiting for her to give the green light. After a few seconds and the rustling of fabric from behind the door, she opened it up. Her face had been a little flushed from embarrassment, but she braved the confrontation and let him step in. 

“I didn’t think you were coming this morning,” she mumbled, shielding her eyes with her hand across her brows. Vaun seemed completely uninterested and brushed it off. That had been the first time he got a clear look at what condition her body was in. Still a bit skinny, as expected; but he recalled how the light way the light hit her and revealed the sinew of her back and shoulders. Perhaps she would be considered “average” among females. But that wouldn’t do, regardless of their gender. They needed able-bodied people who could hold their own. He could accept that it would take time to build up her stamina, though.

“It's not a problem.” 

“Is it not?” she rebutted, confused. 

“ _Strigoi_ lose sexual urges and organs upon turning, so, no. It has no such affect on me.” 

She only looked at him thoughtfully. Despite his obvious appearance, it was hard for her to see him as an actual strigoi—of the same kind as the horrific creatures outside. It hadn’t dawned on her before, but, he looked oddly more human than some of the others she’d seen. How was that? Did it just depend? That, she was uncertain of. She wanted to ask. 

“So, why have you come?” she questioned. 

“To see if you were better, of course,” he answered truthfully. Last night after he’d gone back to his chamber he was approached by another hunter with word of the trade deals between them and one of the gangs of the city. It was on uneven ground, tentative and not fully trusted on both ends. It needed to be sorted out shortly, and a human diplomat to represent for them was just what they needed.

She let out a brief sigh and felt of her forehead. The ibuprofen had worked its magic; her fever was in fact was down. Her body still felt somewhat weak, but it could be worked around. As long as she wasn’t being harassed by headaches or fevers, she felt okay. At least enough to function, which Vaun, and subsequently Quinlan would be pleased to know. He took a step closer and tried to discreetly take in a smell. She wasn’t scented so strongly anymore of whatever was infecting her.   
She caught onto his maneuver and couldn’t help but sport a grin. “Can you tell so easily?” 

He was slightly caught off-guard by her question, but figured it was probably much more noticeable from her perspective. He leaned back and nodded, “You smell different depending on what’s going on in your body.” 

“Sounds handy,” she admitted. “Are you sure I wouldn't like to have your senses?” 

Although she had been joking, just trying to bring jest to the situation, Vaun didn’t take it that way. He did a practical one-eighty by her question, going from a benignly neutral state to suddenly being serious and grim. She took notice of this and stammered out an apology. She felt ignorant. He’d told her before in complete earnest that it wasn’t something she wanted. She wasn’t completely privy of the behind-the-scenes of his nature, clearly. All she saw was the promise of heightened abilities, which was a problem. 

Vaun sighed in resignation. Must he show her this? Must he tell her of his bind to the Ancients, the fact that they, in a way, had a leash on him constantly? He had his own mind and thoughts, some of his own free will. But he was forever held in place by the Ancients; for they’d created him themselves. There was always that in the back of his mind. He couldn’t fault her for being unaware of this reality, but he also couldn’t let her remain in naivety any longer. She needed to see the truth of it. 

Camden looked away regretfully. “Really, I was just trying to make light of it,” she explained fruitlessly. Vaun was still adamant about his stance on it, because it was not something that should be made light of. 

“I'm going to show you something,” he said as he grabbed her forearm, pulling her out into the hall. She tried to reel back. His grip was maybe too strong on her arm, but, in the moment he didn’t consider it. 

He pulled her behind him down the series of halls, all the while she argued and pushed back relentlessly. “Where are we going? Let me go!” she growled. He paid no mind to her resistance and led her into one of the feeding rooms of the compound. He pushed the door open roughly and forced her up front and center to see inside. 

A hunter, feeding on a man who lay on the ground. The wet sounds of the stinger sucking up the blood sent a chill up her spine, and it made her awfully sick. The hunter didn’t even look up, staying latched onto the man's neck as he drained the rest of him. The body twitched and fidgeted, but stayed silent. She couldn’t see in the low lighting, but his face had been zapped of its color. The pink, fleshy hue that made skin look normal. 

Vaun didn’t want to show her this. But in some regard, he felt that he had to. 

“Do you see now why you do not want to be like us?” he asked softly. She began to shake and pried her eyes off of the scene, tucking her chin into her shoulder. He let her yank her arm away and run out of the room, where she stopped around the corner and leaned her shoulder against the wall to process. 

He closed the scene and approached her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder to turn her to him. “I apologize for the disturbing sight, but you have to understand. This is what it means to be like me.” 

She refused to look at him and tugged her shoulder away. She said through an uneven voice, “I don't know what I expected.” 

“Now you know,” he said as pressed his back against the wall. He loosely crossed his arms over his chest, looking over at her. For some reason, the fact that she refused to even look at him made him feel…bothered. He wasn’t offended, per say. She had all the right to swallow the pill in whatever way she saw fit. But something about the display ignited an unfamiliar feeling of guilt in him. He reached over and took a short lock of her hair between his fingers, rubbing it experimentally. It was soft. It greatly contrasted the roughness of his own fingers, and as well as the rest of his body. For a split-second, he wondered if her skin was soft like her hair was. He let go of the lock and pulled away his hand, tucking it back into his other arm.

He didn’t move nor say anything as he waited there for her to regain her composure, and when she finally did, she actually turned to face him. 

In truth, she knew deep down that they had to feed as a strigoi had to feed. There was no getting around it. But her mind…blocked the thought, in a way. She wasn’t sure what she thought they consumed if not blood. They just acted so human, so much more than a feral _strigoi_. It was difficult to accept that they were no exception in spite of how civilized they acted compared to the other creatures. They wore clothes and organized themselves with intelligence. They drove and could speak as a human would. They had control over themselves and their urges, and kept their instincts in check. They reigned in everything that would have made them feral and conducted themselves as a regular person would; but at the end of the day, they were still _strigoi_. And it was important to make that distinction. 

In a strange sense, she felt humbled by the experience. Behind her disgust was the gratitude of him taking her out of her blindness. It would be a little while before she could see the good in it, but it was there. 

Perhaps it was simply a matter of perspective. 

“Vaun.” 

His ears perked at her sudden address.

“Who was he?” she asked firmly. He saw in her eyes the need for closure despite her now steadier tone. 

“A criminal,” he answered in truth. They tried not to pick up innocents. They looked for the worst they could, which were also healthy to feed on, and those were the ones they chose. It had become exceedingly rare for any of them to sate themselves on an innocent person, and they also fed as little as they could, on the grounds of properly maintaining their body, of course. Their conduct had some semblance of a morality. He followed up, “A very bad man.” 

Surprisingly, she didn’t question him further. She didn’t interrogate him on what he did to deserve that fate, nor did she seem to look down on him. She licked her bottom lip and nodded sightly before looking him in the eye. 

“I'll trust in you, then,” she said, “that you're not lying to me.” 

_I would never do that to you_. 

“You may strike me down should you ever find out that I have.”

His response was all that she needed to hear. Her body moved toward as if on its own accord, seeking out that heat he let off. But as she reached just before him, she stopped. Was it stupid to want contact? To feel the touch of another person? She didn’t know if Vaun ever had that desire. If it would make things awkward, or uncomfortable. So, she sidestepped past him in her reluctance. 

“I’m going to go back to my room,” she announced as she walked forward. 

Vaun felt somewhat distant seeing her retreating away from him. It took him a moment to think of something to say to her, settling on "Do you need help finding your way back?” 

_Are you okay? Is it alright? Are you uncomfortable with me, now?_ All the options felt too inappropriate. 

She stopped and looked around as if lost. Yes, she was lost. If she could, she would have found her chamber by herself. But he was much more familiar with the layout than she was; everything looked vaguely similar. 

“I guess I do,” she said. He felt glad that she accepted his offer, and he quickly strode up to her side. 

“This way,” he took her forearm in his hand again without even thinking. He realized and glanced down at where her small limb was wrapped by his father large hand. He almost wanted to retract it and pretend that it hadn’t happened, but instead, he kept it up. It was strange, he didn’t want to let it go. 

When they arrived back at her chamber, he still held onto her arm and only let go when Camden brought it to his attention. 

“Uh,” she sounded, looking at his hand. It was only then that his ears picked up on her heartbeat, which was pumping faster than usual.

He was puzzled for a second before he realized he still had her arm in his hand, and quickly released. “Ah…yes,” he said. Silence didn’t sound like a good response, but neither did what he said, either. She swung open her door and stepped in, leaning around the side of it. 

“I suppose that I'll be seeing you later?” 

“Yes,” he said, forgetting about his previous blunder. “I must talk to someone first.” 

“Alright, then,” she sighed. Before he could say anything else she had already closed the door. He turned heel and went to leave as fast as possible, but something caught his attention. _Quinlan_. 

“Quit hiding, coward,” he called out, waiting for him to emerge from wherever he had been listening in from. 

Quinlan came out of one of the adjacent chambers, who's door was very slightly cracked open. He chuckled, “I thought you would have noticed sooner. Were you so distracted?” 

“I figured you were above eavesdropping,” Vaun said as he approached him. He crossed his arms, this time more tightly. “Clearly you are still a child at heart.” 

Quinlan snarled lowly and stepped out fully into the corridor. “And your display earlier was not childish?” 

Vaun tensed, looking for something to say. He bit back with, “I was simply helping her back to her chamber.” The smug look on Quinlan's face irrationally irritated him. He’d dealt with Quinlan's attitude for many years now, and knew him well. Why was it suddenly bothering him so? 

“Yes, that is now it looked. Were you afraid she would wander off, or…?” He gestured at his own hand, reminding Vaun of what he'd done.

“I don't have to justify myself to you,” Vaun glowered. He went to shove past the much taller Quinlan, but a strong arm draped over his torso stopped him. He side-eyed him and hissed a fierce warning, though Quinlan remained looking forward, unfazed. 

“Take it from me that do not do something you will regret. We have a job.” 

With that and only that he let go of Vaun and disappeared down the corridor, leaving him to ponder his words. If he was insinuating he’d lose control of himself, he could assure him that it would never happen? He had long since left behind the days of making decisions based on impulse, fleeting instinctual urges. He was in control. 

“Don’t let me find you hanging around here listening in again,” Vaun said lastly. Although Quinlan was far gone and didn't retort anything, he knew the half-breed had heard him.

Before he started back towards his chamber, he found himself stuck in place and thinking about Quinlan's words. He felt angry that he let him get to him so viscerally—Vaun wasn't usually so reactive. Something about what he said crawled underneath his skin and had begun to fester, and fast. It was disturbing in more ways than one. Why did it weigh on his mind so heavily? He was absolutely certain that he had himself in check. There would never, ever be an instance where he wouldn't around Camden. There hadn't been any incidents yet. So what did Quinlan truly mean? His mind couldn't wrap itself around it. The more he thought on it, the more subtly anxious it had made him. 

If only Vaun had realized what he'd meant sooner. 


	6. Chapter Six

Camden threw her back against the door right as she closed it. Vaun's hand was gone, and yet she still felt the phantom sensation of it around her arm. She looked at it as if trying to find some kind of proof that it was indeed still there—it was not. She was surprised, and don’t know how to react, but strangely, she kept having to resist the smile trying to show through. 

She slipped away from the door and went along to the cabinet, pulling out a bag of beef jerky. It was tough; felt like chewing on leather, but, she was glad to experience the smoky flavor once again. The only meat she’d had so far was canned chicken, and she could tell it was getting to her. Her diet had always been more meat-based than anything, really. But with the fall of the city, unless she ventured into the forests of the state, meat would be a privilege. Given that people were not cannibalizing each other, only the wealthy people could afford such a commodity. 

She lay up in her room for two hours before hearing a light rapping at her door, which had her springing up to it. She swung it open with more eagerness than she’d wanted to show, and expected to see Vaun—but it wasn’t him. He was tall, even taller than Vaun, who stood at six feet. His skin was pale and had a look no better described than “marbled”, which piercing blue eyes. Hairless as the strigoi were, but had a distinctly more human appearance to him. 

She let go of the door and backpedaled. “Who are you?” she asked, eyeing him unfalteringly. 

“Vaun hasn’t told you of me yet? Shame,” he said. He strode into the room halfway and looked around. “I figured he would have, by now. I am Quinlan.”

“No,” she responded, “he hasn’t.” When he stepped in farther she moved away as well, back toward her pallet. 

Quinlan took notice of this and snorted. “I’m not here to hurt you, or whatever you’re thinking.” His face took a more serious turn as he spoke next, “But, I _am_ here to have a word with you.” 

“Then talk,” she retorted. 

He hummed, and his eyes fell on her. She felt like she wanted to squirm under such a scrutinizing gaze. “Very well, then. I will start off with this: do you know why you’re here right now?” 

“Vaun saved me from the…creature.” 

“Ah,” he started, pacing the width of the room, “And why did he do that?”

The question confused her. She stared at him, perplexed, and took a shot at explaining exactly why he had, though it was more of a question to herself rather than an answer for Quinlan. “Because he…” Her words faded to silence as she began to feel empty-headed.

Not just for lack of a better answer, but because of her own unknowing. Why had he saved her? He had divulged what they were doing on that dreadful night. But he was under no obligation to step in as he did. Was it his conscience? A kind heart? She wanted to believe the latter, but Quinlan's condescending eyes shifted her mindset. She remained quiet and submitted so he may continue. 

“I see you aren’t fully aware. I know what you’re thinking, mortal—and it is not that. It was never that.” 

She had to refrain from flinching at his sudden statement, how easily he saw through her. Until this day she’d never quite believed that she was an open book, but this experience made her a believer. 

He had all-seeing eyes; too prying to hide from. Unbeknownst to her, there was two thousand years of experience behind those intense blues of his. No one could shy away, and if they had been able to? It was a feat, indeed. 

To deflect, she had to think of something quickly. “I don't know what you’re talking about,” she spouted uselessly. Behind the mask of her coy calm, she felt a pit forming in her stomach. She almost visibly cringed at that moment. How dumb she felt to have put herself in such a vulnerable position, so easily readable. 

Why Vaun had stopped that night really was beyond her comprehension. 

“Stop dodging,” he ordered, taking on a tone demanding enough to make her want to comply. She didn’t want to—she wanted to remind stubborn and dignified. But she saw no use in the charade, seeing as he picked up on the scent so effortlessly. She loosened her tensely crossed arms and let them call to her sides. “Answer the question," he barked again.

“I thought he brought me back because he was good,” she finally admitted, feeling very stupid for her assumption. “Because he didn’t want to see me get killed.” 

Quinlan sighed. “And there it is. I thought such.” 

Camden dropped her gaze and didn’t want to hear anymore. She didn’t want to think that it was only because they needed another daywalker, only because they had come short. Her mind tried to rationalize, but the only conclusion she could come to was that any “sign” she thought she had been given that it was anything more, was skewed judgement. 

“Whatever you're looking for in Vaun, you will not find.” He looked as though he was going to turn heel and leave, but, he stopped before the door and beckoned her. “The Ancients wish to have a hearing with you. It is not a request, so unless you would like to be their next meal, I would suggest that you follow me.” He was sure that what he said had gotten to her. It was crystal clear to him; she was distracting both him and herself by engaging. Had had been around long enough to see feelings blossom, only to take a turn for the worst as soon as it mattered. Such activities, matters of the heart, had no place in their business. None. What astonished him most about the situation was how Vaun was swayed by this person, who really was so ignorant. But he couldn't control what Vaun did, so, by undermining Camden and clipping her wings before things got too far, he believed he'd stopped it before it got out of hand. And that was good; not only had the distraction been squashed, but Vaun wouldn't go through the things that Quinlan himself had with human ties. He'd been Vaun's mentor since the beginning, and would be damned to see him falter because of the girl. 

He would have to keep a close eye on the two. 

Without anything more to say to her, he left. Camden felt overwhelmed; first this man comes to her chambers being so tactless, and now she was being called to their Ancients. She knew so little of them, only the tiny bit that Vaun had mentioned offhandedly at some point. But she heard the seriousness in Quinlan's voice and took his warning to heart, despite her distaste for him. 

So, she darted from her room to find him already turning the corridor, and hurried up to catch him. He didn’t say anything to her as they made their way in bitter silence, which she was relieved for. They passed open rooms where packs of strigoi congregated, nesting together in sleep. The behavior was exceedingly odd to her, to witness them in such a passive state. Vaun had told her that none there would attack or try to feed from her due to the Ancients' influence, so she felt herself able to relax just a little bit while going through. But nothing could quell the churning in her stomach and the tingles in her chest as they drew closer to where the Ancients resided. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter of a chapter, but, I was quite happy with this ending point. cheers


	7. Chapter Seven

Vaun was not the first to know about the Ancients' call for Camden. He had to find out the hard way—much too late—by going to collect her himself to bring to them when it was time, but they sent Quinlan instead. At first he had just thought her scent was lingering from when they were walking the halls earlier. He eventually found it headed the opposite direction of her chamber and immediately put two and two together. Quinlan wasn’t only hanging around just to eavesdrop. He should have realized that part; though, Quinlan neglected to tell him at their confrontation.

So, he skidded to a stop with a growl, making due haste toward the Ancients' holdings. He knew he couldn’t enter without permission, and that they wouldn’t be letting him in during the hearing. That didn’t mean he couldn’t wait outside.

When he arrived upon the heavy set of doors, he had to shoo away two overly-curious _strigoi_ lingering in the area who had caught her scent just as had. Crude as they were, they still kept their inquisitive nature. But he didn’t want them scaring Camden as she left, so, he drove the two away and found a comfortable spot in a shadow near the back wall, leaning against it with brooding patience. _It should not be too long before she is dismissed._

* * *

Quinlan basically had to force her in through the doors. What little bravado she already had was quickly diminished when they had actually arrived at their destination. Quinlan pushed open one of the large doors and motioned for her to enter, but she stepped away. “Go,” he prodded, holding it open wider. From her angle outside, she could see a soft light casted down into the empty room, with the rest shrouded in complete darkness.

“I don't want to,” she stammered out. Quinlan sighed irritably at her lack of sense; she wasn’t going in alone. He reached forward and let the door fall shut with more noise than she’d hoped, and was too slow to dodge the tight hold on her upper arm.

“I’m going in with you, you idiot,” he hissed, dragging her over. “Stop resisting and _go in._ ” He’d had enough of her attitude and roughly pushed the door back open. He shoved her in before himself and still kept his hand on her arm to keep her from wanting to try to make a break for it. The sight inside was utterly strange. To Camden, it seemed so alien, with how their wrinkled, grey bodies were still and silent, all the while being propped up by strange contraptions.

The room, large and void of anything but them, was so quiet that she could hear a pin drop. Only here and there did her ears pick up on the almost inaudible clicks and rattles of the creatures before her, who admittedly radiated a sort of regal air. Quinlan leaned down close enough to her ear for her to shiver at the feeling of his breath, “Do not speak out of place.”

Quinlan guided her forward until they were both stood before them, and after exchanging regards telepathically, he slipped back a few paces, leaving her feeling so exposed before the Ancients. “I will be speaking for the Ancients on their behalf,” he announced.

Camden was writhing under her skin. She tried not to show it—how uncomfortable she was. The utter silence of the room was particularly disturbing, as she was so used to hearing verbal communication. But after a minute or so of back-and-forth between Quinlan and the Ancients, he was ready to speak up. “State your name,” he said. H

heart jumped in her chest at the sudden instruction, and so she unimpressively fumbled in responding with her full name. Camden-Mae Mathers.

“Will you heed orders without hesitation?”

 _I can’t keep stuttering like this._ She forced her nerves to calm themselves as much as she could for the second she had to answer. Without thinking, she answered, “I am.”

Now was not the time to make brash decisions. She knew that. But she’d already gotten involved, and at that point, it was cooperation, or death. Quinlan continued in their place. “Do you promise your unwavering loyalty to this cause?”

“Yes.”

On the outside, she tried to stand tall. Dignified, as she saw Vaun's stance. He was her inspiration. But on the inside? Her stomach was doing flips. Her mind was racing. What had she gotten herself into? Why was she here, going along with everything asked of her? It was far too late to turn back. She was already wading in knee deep, and it was sink or swim. Hesitation will get you killed, as Vaun had said. She hadn’t been able to break herself of it until just then.

For the next few moments, she had to stand in the thick quietness of the room. She felt like she was going to have an anxiety attack if she didn’t leave soon, but, she didn’t even take her eyes off the four Ancients.

That she was actually proud of; even though inwardly she was dying, she’d been able to at least sell a small amount of steadfastness. Whether Quinlan saw through this one or not would be the true test of it.

“That is all.”

She took her eyes off with a light hum and looked back at Quinlan. He cocked his brows and gave her a “what are you waiting for?” kind of look. She snapped out of her partial daze and nodded, scurrying past him and out of the door he’d been holding open. She burst out into the hall and immediately covered her face with her hands. She didn’t know what she’d just done. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking. Her mind ran on autopilot at, debatably, a terrible time—but it was done. There honestly was no taking it back. She’d sworn it, and she was going to have to work it through and through if she wanted to survive

The unknown really was the scariest part.

Vaun watched her from around the shadow of the corner in interest. Truthfully, it was most interesting to observe humans and strigoi alike in their base states, unstimulated and left to their own. There was something oddly intimate about watching someone who did not know they were being watched. Though, there was always a curious factor in that. In his years, he’d noticed how some humans subconsciously knew they were being watched. He saw the hairs on their arms stand up, how their shoulders would raise or tense in protection of their necks. It seemed that some could tell where it was coming from. Others only knew there were a pair of eyes set on them. It was incredibly curious to him.

However, it seemed that Camden was unaware, herself. He looked closely at her body language to try to find the reactions, but found only her cupping her face in her hands. This worried him a deal.

So, he stepped out of the shadows and made sure that his footsteps were no longer soft enough to be undetectable, just so she knew someone was coming. As he’d expected, she whipped around firstly in a startle, but relaxed considerably when she saw that it was him. She let him close in.

Behind him, he could sense a lone _strigoi_ watching them. He didn’t bring it to her attention and instead distracted her by turning her back to it by her shoulders, which confused her, though she could barely see in the darkness behind her when she glanced back. He kept an watchful eye on the curious strigoi as he spoke. “You were not supposed to go with him,” he said, taking in her anxious aura. “I apologize that I wasn’t there to.”

She shook her head and sighed. “It wouldn’t have changed it. You’re fine.”

 _You surely would have been more comfortable_. He narrowed his eyes at the _strigoi_ in the background, who was daring enough to have taken a step closer. He didn’t want to alert her after being so overwhelmed, so, he put his hand on her back and started to amble down the corridor, leading her away from the _strigoi_. She was much less talkative than usual with everything on her mind, and for a second he'd wished there was something he could do to redirect her thoughts. He went through his options. Not many, unsurprisingly; there was generally no talk of entertainment within the compound. They had been above such past times, but it would have proven useful for that moment. His mind wandered to something she could engage herself with—then it hit him. He knew what she could do!

“Come with me back to my chamber,” he said. The boldness of the statement caught her totally off guard. She got ready to say something—she didn't know what, but something—until he added, “I have something that I would like for you to help me with.”

She craned her head up at him and asked, “What is it?”

_Oh, jeez. I don’t think I’m of much use right now._

“You will see,” he said, lightly patting the hand on her back. She let him being her back to his own chamber, where he brought her in and made a beeline for his weapons' cabinet. He rummaged for a gun he’d not cared so much for. He settled on his first attempt at a modified gun, which wasn’t so effective as his current. But it would do, so he found it and pulled it out, handing it to her carefully.

She stared down at the weapon, perplexed. “What do you want me to do with this? Shoot you?” she asked with a skeptically raised brow.

“No, I'm going to teach you how to take it apart and put it back together again.”

“Why?”

“Aren't you supposed to not question our wishes?” he asked, hoping to draw her in. A small smile that she tried to hide broke out on her face. _Atta girl_.

He sat her down with him on his pallet and proceeded to go through the steps of dismantling it. He sat cross-legged from her, and she folded on her legs. He was unsure how to describe the feeling, but, for some reason, he liked to see how hard she tried to follow along. How focused she was as she watched him do it himself. He could tell some parts were a little advanced for her, but with time she’d get the hang of it.

Once he was done, he looked up at her. “Okay,” he said, “your turn.”

She paused, gazing down at the parts intently. Had she waited any longer, he would have started to think that she was completely lost. But the fact that she made relatively good time in sorting the parts by the order they’d been dismantled stated otherwise, and by and by, she’d actually done it. It was reassembled. He was surprised, to say the least—that she had even gotten as close as she did. She fumbled with the scope a little, but that was the last bit, so he finished that step himself and gave a satisfied purr. He hadn’t expected her to have been so quick with it, nor to do it with the amount of grace as she did. Few times did she stop to ponder on it. 

As he inspected it, she found his lack of communication awkward and decided to ask how she’d done. Was he quiet because she had messed up somewhere?

“You did better than I thought you would have,” he said with a hint of surprise, standing up and putting it back in its place. “I, admittedly, was not expecting you to make such swift work of it.” 

This swelled her pride. For the first time since she’d gotten there, she felt a little accomplished, and that maybe there was some hope after all. It felt startlingly good to be validated so, as much as she didn’t want to admit. But she supposed it was good, anyway. People strive for validation.

“I’m glad I did good, then,” she said contentedly.

“You did, indeed.”

The conversation fell flat on its face, for a minute there. She started to think about what time it was as she was getting tired again. No, it couldn’t have been that much into the afternoon. Maybe one o’clock, or so, but she had to remember that her body was still trying to drive out the infection.

Somewhere along the line, she’d apparently leaned back against the wall, her eyelids dropping periodically. Vaun stood back with his shoulder against the doorframe and watched her begin to fall into that state between sleep and wakefulness. He wouldn’t sleep for another good while, so he hadn't any qualms about her being on his pallet. He didn’t want to disturb her, either.

He continued watching for about seven minutes when she finally succumbed to her tiredness and drifted info sleep, all the while he was thinking on how much she had to have trusted him in order to do so. Beings were in their most vulnerable state when asleep, even _strigoi_. That was why they slept in packs or nests; not only for the aspect of social convention, but the practicality of strength in numbers, as well. 

Her face was relieved of all previous tension was she was asleep, looking so much more at peace than she did anytime she was awake. He wondered fleetingly what it was like to carry such anxiety on her shoulders all the time. And despite how much he’d seen her face so far, the more he looked at it, the more familiar it felt. Had he seen her before? He was certain he hadn’t. He would have remembered her features; they seemed more distinct to him than most he’d seen. Or perhaps it was the combination—either way, it felt familiar despite all logical explanations.

He heard her heartbeat was a slow, steady pace, and her breathing, too. The drumming of it caused his stinger to excite unexpectedly, to which he stuffed the urge down his throat. There would be none of that. Ever. 

He felt angry and even disgusted with himself for the thought even crossing his mind, no matter how brief it was. She was asleep. It was bad enough to happen when she was conscious, but when she was dead asleep, completely unaware? That was unthinkably low. He was not an animal any longer. He might have been full _strigoi_ , but he was allowed some semblance of his former humanity. Maybe this was a burden he was meant to carry. He had to take it in his stride, he couldn't let it consume him. Sometimes, he felt as if on the inside, he was more man than monster. Other instances disproved that. He tried not to muddle on past mistakes. He had been a youngling, all younglings were ignorant, clumsy. If he looked at it in the right light, he could be grateful for the Ancients' influence over his being, otherwise he would have never been here. 

Eventually, he decided that he’d leave her be. He eased her down onto her side on the pallet and made sure that she wouldn’t stir before quietly exiting his chamber, keeping noise to a minimum as he creaked his door shut. Once again, he had no specific plans. 

This past week had been a low-key one, without very many calls to action. They’d cleared out a large portion of nests of feral _strigoi_ in the suburbs, but, there was always more work to be done. Regardless, the week had been a needed break, in retrospect; he’d gone out hunting almost every night the week before, and even for someone with his aptitude, he was not invincible to the effects of overworking.

It began to feel like divine intervention for him to have stumbled upon Camden at such a time, had there been any God.


	8. Chapter Eight

As Vaun travelled the halls of the compound, he worked up a good amount of _strigoi_ following behind him because of Camden's scent. At first, he had let it go on. They weren’t much of a problem. But he caught one just inches from his back trying to smell closer and quickly whirled around with a light hiss. It needed and crept back with the group, which stayed lagging behind as to not annoy him further. 

They only dispersed when Vaun came upon Lar near the training room, when Vaun was fed up with them and shouted them off. “Go away,” he said. “You aren’t getting anything from me.” He added a throaty growl, which caused his stinger to rattle as well. He’d have to make sure they wouldn’t be swarming his chamber later, not with Camden still there _. I probably should have made her leave._

The group finally scattered, Vaun rubbed one of his temples—a habit he had picked up over the years. Lar saw him more on the fritz than usual and asked, “What has you so wound up?” 

Vaun couldn’t really explain, or didn’t want to. He grunted dismissively, trying to get Lar off his back due to his prying nature. He continued past him, only to have Lar simply jog up to his side and stayed hovering there. Until Vaun eventually got annoyed with his presence too, so he turned and barked at him, “Would you stop hovering?” Lar didn’t move out of the way nor make room, which made Vaun bristle. He tried not to snap at his brother, though, and instead composed himself. Lar shouldn't have been the one to take the brunt of his mood. 

“Perhaps when you tell me,” Lar said matter-of-factly. 

“Why must you be so relentless?” Vaun asked in exasperation. His brother didn’t respond to that one, choosing to stay silent until he could find something else to bring up. Clearly it was not a good time. 

“Is she better?” Lar asked absentmindedly, diverting the subject entirely. Vaun huffed a breath and chuffed. He knew Lar didn’t actually concern himself with it, it was simply to get a word out of Vaun. He didn't like to be given the cold shoulder by him, that hurt.

“Somewhat.” 

“Well, she’d better be soon, because I do not plan on going easy on her.” 

Despite Lar's slightly tactless approach to sparring, he couldn’t really argue with that. Vaun didn’t want Camden getting too comfortable with them. Vaun and the rest of them might have had control over themselves, but they were the exceptions. She needed to hold her own against someone who was not holding back. 

“Just do not lose your restraint,” Vaun sighed. “I will know if you do.” 

“Yes, yes, I've heard it before from Quinlan,” Lar said, “no permanently damaging the human.” 

Quinlan had told him that? By how he’d acted before, Vaun figured that he would have been fine with her getting hurt. What was he up to? He thought that Lar didn’t mean anything incriminating of it, but still didn’t know if Quinlan had told him anything else. Either way, he suddenly felt the seed of distrust spout a root. 

“I mean it. Don't ruin this for us, otherwise it will be you who takes the blame.” 

Lar gave a light chitter. “I’m glad to see your priorities are in order. Quinlan should be pleased about that.”

Vaun shook his head, “Quinlan is never pleased.” He had known the hybrid for a long time now. He’d rarely seen him content with anything, whether it was his own doing or someone else's. No one was safe from his scrutiny. He had experienced it time and time again throughout his life—though, he wouldn’t have been the hunter that he was if it weren’t for Quinlan. So, he could credit him for that, in any case. 

“Agreeable notion.” 

As if on cue, Quinlan actually rounded the corner to find them immediately hush up. Vaun couldn’t sense him like he could the other strigoi—he hadn’t the worms in his body. This was particularly irritating at the worst of times, when he would get snuck up upon by Quinlan and either struck or startled for not detecting him sooner. He stood arms crossed, and with the usual stone-cold look on his face. He’d heard everything, no doubt about it. Lar was quick to slip out of the area behind Vaun's back, leaving him to deal with irate Quinlan on his own. _Are you serious_? 

“I see you’ve been discussing me,” Quinlan stated. “Oh heard, rather. I’m guessing you assumed I was elsewhere?” 

Vaun shifted, holding his arms behind his back. “Nothing to be concerned of.” 

“I’m not 'concerned',” Quinlan bit back, “more so curious, maybe. What do you think of the arrangements?” 

The question had Vaun a little confused, and so he asked, “Regarding what?” 

“Miss Mathers,” he responded plainly. 

“It is sufficient, for now.” 

Quinlan seemed to have relinquished some of his previous attitude and dropped his arms. “I thought you would have taken issue with that. Good to hear.” He gave Vaun a look that he couldn’t quite read. _Strigoi_ were not often that expressive, so he hadn’t made it a skill of deciphering people's expressions. Nevertheless, he still didn’t feel very comfortable with Quinlan as he could not tell what was going on in that head of his. He wasn’t as open a book as the other full strigoi, his kin. 

“There isn't an issue,” Vaun said simply. “No.” He certainly wouldn’t go to Quinlan if there would have been. He’d take care of it himself. 

Quinlan nodded in confirmation and turned to lean against the wall, but Vaun remained in his spot. “Very well. I’ll go ahead and get on with what I came here for, then” he explained. Vaun's interest piqued. He let go of his predisposition and let him speak without inwardly questioning everything he said. “New arrangements have been made to meet with the leader of Sublime Justice outside of the city in two day's time. You, Camden and I will be going ourselves to discuss the trades.” 

Her first job. To be a mediator between the strigoi and the humans, and if things go well, she would benefit as greatly as they would. This would be a minor test to prove herself in a different way—that she can stay unflinching, even in the presence of some of the most powerful break-away groups controlling the city. They managed the pseudo-legislation of the biggest city districts, and had the some leading scientists wrapped around their finger. Their mission was to purge the world of the infestation through vaccine trials and gene alteration, as big a feat as it was. And that's what caught the attention of Quinlan. 

They were not to be messed with, that was clear. But their alliance could mean something big. 

“Think of this as a…test of Miss Mathers' strength of character,” Quinlan reasoned, “may she be sturdy enough not to waver.” He stopped to think on it. He knew Camden was young, most likely no older than twenty. Get them early. If it was not already too late, they could shape her into a very valuable asset. It would have been even more ideal if she were younger, but, he digressed—it wasn't too late, yet. He was pretty certain of that. 

“I see. I will tell her.” 

“You do that,” Quinlan said, eyeing him. “You’re competent enough to show her the ropes so she doesn't make any mistakes, so, I'll leave you to it.” He started to leave when Vaun halted him in the same way Quinlan had done him last time. 

“I trust that you are not hiding anything,” blurted Vaun, who instantly regretted it. It felt wrong to doubt Quinlan. He didn't like the dissention of it, he was so acclimated to the smooth dynamic between him and his nestmates. But that balance was difficult to achieve with Quinlan, the rogue who was independent from them. Vaun had always thought he was more strigoi than human, despite his hybrid nature. He knew he was split in between, yes, but Quinlan seemed to lean more towards his strigoi nature than his human. Though, that was good to Vaun, it made him easier to warm up to. Had he been more of the human likeness, he wasn't certain if they would have been such good comrades at any point. 

Quinlan was taken slightly back. "What is this?" He looked at Vaun and waited for an answer, but was instead met with cold silence. 

Vaun relented and stepped aside, "It is nothing. Nevermind." Not looking back as Quinlan pushed past, he stood and listened to his footfalls retreat down the halls until he could barely hear them anymore, and then doubled back to his chamber. 

Thankfully, they hadn't congregated near his chamber. He entered quietly to find Camden still asleep, yet at the smallest noise of the heel of his boot dragging on the floor, she awoke. He witnessed her in her groggiest state just then, once again between sleep and wakefulness, but she was beginning to stir. She rolled to her side and stretched and stretched, which reminded him strangely of the cat that used to roam the compound looking for vermin. Until it died, of course—he’d found it in the storage room one evening. He didn’t touch or interact with it much, as it was flighty, but it could purr as he did. It was familiar, and therefore comfortable.  
He always preferred cats over dogs, regardless of his general lack of interest in animals. 

For just a short moment, he imagined himself in her position. Sleeping alone, vulnerable, and slow. He always felt safe sleeping with his nestmates. For when he did, skin-to-skin was preferable. He could not deny his instinctual urges. Safety in numbers. They were strong together. And although Quinlan had a domineering presence, Vaun was perhaps second in command to them as Quinlan was but a hybrid, and they took to Vaun because he truly was one of them. They went to him when there was a problem, he settled small skirmishes; he was like the oldest sibling in a family unit. 

And they were like family. That did make him glad.

He only piped up when he realized that she was falling back asleep again. “No,” he said, approaching her. “No going back to sleep. I need to tell you something.” He shook her shoulder persistently until she finally sat up, rubbing at her heavy eyes. 

“What is it?” Her voice was a bit raspy. The dark circles under her eyes had become most intense at that point, unsurprisingly. Her sleep was done in spurts, with restlessness in between. She hadn’t had the chance to go full REM for what felt like too long.   
It wasn’t too unlike being stuck in her apartment under lockdown and curfew. Especially being a ground-level apartment, where she had too many close calls with seeing the strigoi wandering the streets hunting. Sleepless nights were almost always a guarantee, until more and more of her neighbors had gotten picked off. She felt extremely lucky to have left as the complex was infected that night, despite their attempts at barring and gating the area. The _strigoi_ always seemed to find some way in, even with the militia patrolling the streets. All it took was one slipping through, and down went the whole thing. 

Vaun gestured for her to get up, which she did, but was still tired all the same. “We have a mission coming up. Two days,” he said.   
Suddenly, she felt wide awake. No, she hadn’t expected this one so soon—she felt unready. But, was anyone ever ready? Don't get too ahead of yourself. Let him talk. She pushed away any thoughts of self-doubt for the moment and shifted her attention back to Vaun.

“For what? Where are we going?” 

“A trade deal with the _Sublime Justice_ group just outside of the city, neutral turf. I'm sure you've heard of them.” 

Oh, yes, she had. They were everywhere in the city, self-proclaimed martial-lawmakers amongst the chaos, in which as the traditional judicial system had begun to fall under the pressure of the outbreak, they were there to pick up the mess. So to speak—she couldn’t confirm, but, she had heard rumors of them imprisoning people or using unsavory tactics in getting information.   
No wonder they controlled the labs too, if that were the case. 

So, while they fended off some of the outbreak in the safe zones and made them habitable, they also attempted a vaccine. There was no curing Corruption, only prevention. Hope for the best, but expect the worst.

Camden responded dryly, “Yes, I have.” 

Vaun nodded curtly and continued. “They have access to weapons and ammo. Scientists, too—those working on the…vaccine,” he explained, hesitating slightly at the end. Camden took notice and tilted her head to the side. Vaun wasn’t going to say it out loud, but, he firmly believed there was not a way to create a vaccine, lest a cure. Better men have tried. “We could not get our other contenders to cooperate.” 

Theft was always an option, of course, but the Ancients held off against that route. It would create bad blood and unnecessary tensions, and most certainly unneeded attention. That was one thing all of them did not want to deal with on top of tracking down the Lumen. 

Sublime Justice was good at keeping their business discreet. 

“And I'm supposed to do…what?” she questioned, already feeling the daunt. 

“The humans are more likely to cooperate with another human representative, so that is why you're coming along.”   
It was only talking to them. For some reason, she’d expected something far more difficult, but was partially relieved to hear that. She pulled her hair tie off her wrist and tied her hair up and out of the way, not even considering Vaun's presence right next to her. 

_Not very…thoughtful_. He removed his eyes from her neck and looked back at his weapons' cabinet to occupy his mind. A couple of his guns probably needed to be cleaned, now that he was thinking about it. Camden glanced over at him, “Who else? If anyone,” she said. Vaun was reminded of Quinlan's behavior. 

“Quinlan as well,” he answered. “He is the one who initiated this.” 

She wanted to let out a huff at his response but held it in, not wanting to sound childish. “I see.” 

“Has he spoken to you?” he asked. Her reaction clued him in on it. It had to have been in between him coming and going sometime, which he wasn’t shocked about as he could have been watching well before when Vaun had caught him. Still, he was curious to know what he even said had he spoken to her. 

“He did. After you left the other day,” she said, “I thought it was you at the door. Apparently not,” she finished with a snort. Vaun grumbled unintelligibly under his breath, which she didn’t catch. “Come on now, out with it,” she voiced. He looked over at her briefly, confused, until it came to him that she misunderstood. 

“I didn’t say anything. It was just to confirm that I am listening.” 

She felt a little air-headed, but didn’t dwell on it. Would he care to hear about what Quinlan had said? About his intentions that night they met? The notion still felt uncomfortable, something she didn’t necessarily like or want to think about. Perhaps the way a braver person would go about it would be to say something, or ask them themselves, but to her chagrin she found herself not really wanting to know. 

“Well?” he asked expectantly. 

"What?" she asked, mind elsewhere. He gave her an odd look, and then she understood. “Oh,” she chuckled awkwardly. “He just came to…introduce himself, I guess is the short of it.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Indeed it is.” 

Vaun knew she was holding out; Quinlan wasn’t especially polite. He wouldn’t pry on her any further, though planned on getting something out of her later when it was the right time. It wasn’t detrimental to know—he was just being nosey. Among the nest there was no such withholding information from each other; the strigoi were particularly bad liars, anyway. Quinlan's non-transparent predisposition was definitely telling of his human side, as full _strigoi_ were content to be totally readable with each other. At least the Ancients’ children were. 

Though, as a side thought, it was just then that he processed the accent in Camden's voice. It didn’t slip through very often. In fact, he’d only heard it twice or thrice by then, scarcely. But he duly noted the slight hint of a drawl in her voice. He didn’t know much about her as a person, and neither did she him.

Vaun decided that he would wrap up the conversation. He was getting somewhat tired. Earlier he’d known that his nestmates were quieting down for the day, and he wanted to go and lay down with them as he did at times. So, he excused Camden from his chamber and walked her back to her own. She was sort of iffy about it, not being able to imagine Vaun of all people curling up with his nestmates. But, he proved her wrong and told her goodbye at her door before leaving. She wasn’t so eager to stay in his chamber; their little talk had taken an unexpected turn, which she hadn’t prepared to answer. She couldn’t make up her mind on whether she wanted to tell him what Quinlan had said or not. She got feeling he was aware that she didn’t tell the whole story, but still stayed firm and didn’t speak anything else of it. 

This time around, she felt too awake to sleep. Her mind was totally awake, and yet her body felt so lethargic. She paced about her chamber trying to wear herself out, but it only helped to keep her up. She missed the sun outside. It was cold in the compound—dark, dry and chilly. All the conditions she never liked. She had spent most of her childhood in South Texas, where it was warm and wet and often sunny, too. The change in environment definitely came as a hard hit. The compound wasn’t much better. 

* * *

Vaun found the room his nestmates had picked to sleep in and quickly found his spot among the multiple pallets. They preferred close-contact, and so, as usual one or two found their own spots against him with limbs tangled up in each other. One arm was cushioning his head while a leg was thrown over his own. Someone's back was against his. The room was full of the tell-tale content purrs of the creatures. 

It didn’t take long for him to drift off at all. Normally, they’d rest in semi-lucid states if they were alone. But with each other and the feeling of safety, all fell into deep sleeps. The natural schedule was opposite to the humans; their existence revolved around the sun. So opposite to him was Camden, in all senses. It was often said that opposites attract. Maybe for some, it was true; but he could not see it as the case for himself. There were just too many disparities between them and humans. It brought up memories of when Quinlan, as rare as it was, spoke of his time in Rome and France, and the few women he'd engaged with during those times. None had ended well. It was an unfortunate reality destined to Quinlan by his own nature. Vaun remembered those humans that had come and gone throughout their time. Their lives were just blips in the timeline to the immortals. He thought for a while that perhaps it was a kindness to let some humans become children of the Ancients, living under Their wisdom as they did. But he was aware that the humans saw their existence and would rather a death sentence in their sub-par bodies than become like them. Even with their sentience. 

Camden did not want to be a _strigoi_. He knew that part—and understood it, too. The ferals were...sad. They hadn't much guidance, and when they did, it was the Master's twisted influence. They just didn't know any better. And to Vaun, that was a pity. He knew they were exceptions, that the rest of his kind was a plague to the Earth. There was no middle ground to stand on. It was either the _strigoi_ or the humans, and that was that. 


	9. Chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello, leaving this here to let future readers know. So, I have encountered a problem with my story's idea and I just don't know how to get around it. I hit a road block. I thought it was going somewhere more "intricate", but, I kind of flubbed it. So I think I'm going to have to sit back and brainstorm for a little bit, and possibly make use of creative liberties. I like this too much to abandon it or start over, so it not discontinued. 
> 
> Anyway, thank u for your patience in advance.  
> (also working on characterization of Quinlan and Vaun as I don't feel they're as true as I would like for them to be to their in-show personalities)

“You know you shouldn’t bring that,” Quinlan mentioned to Vaun, who had his prized possession in his hands—his special gun.

“I see no problem in just being prepared.” 

“That _is_ the problem,” Quinlan retorted, “this is supposed to be simply a discussion. Lose the rifle and bring something more discreet.” He picked up a handgun and gave it to Vaun. 

He chuffed and inspected the gun, annoyed. “As if the Bonesword is discreet.” 

Quinlan slipped his greatcoat on and gave Vaun a passing glance, “No heavy firearms.” 

“Fine,” Vaun sighed, holstering the weapon. He spotted one of the strigoi trying to creep towards the room Camden was getting ready in. He let out a loud, clear rattle, and it quickly turned heel and went the other way. “They’re too curious.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, perhaps you would be too,” Quinlan said. This rubbed Vaun the wrong way slightly, but he brushed it aside as he did not want to start trouble right before having to be in the car with him.

“They do know better; they know they’re not supposed to interact with the human allies.” 

“Whatever,” Quinlan responded, “doesn’t matter. Go get her.”

Vaun left and went straight for the room Camden was in, doing a courtesy knock before opening the door. She fumbled with the overcoat he’d given her. It was originally one of the former Sun Hunters', but they kept it anyway after he’d died. It was quite big on her. 

“What’s the point in knocking if you’re gonna come in anyway?” she asked. “This is really warm, by the way.” It was a chilly day. The coat would serve her well. 

“We’re leaving now,” he said, ignoring her question. “The meeting's happening in an old hotel outside of the city. Their secondary base of operations, I suppose.” 

She was actually more than glad to get out. Staying within the compound, devoid of all the sounds and sights and smells she was used to experiencing blindsided her—she’d become stir crazy very quickly. She could be grateful for the break, though. Despite the…change of pace, it was a good place to stay. 

Finishing zipping the heavy, black jacket, she nodded toward him. “Just so you know, I’ve never done anything like this.” 

“Do you know how to talk to people?” he asked as they exited. 

“Well…yeah, I do, actually.” That was one facet of herself she could credit; she was a people person, no doubt about it. With other humans, at least. She wasn’t quite sure at what angle to approach the strigoi, whether it was Vaun or not. 

“You’ll do fine, then.” Vaun seemed content enough with her answer and guided her to the exit of the compound, where Quinlan was already waiting. The whole time, Camden wondered why Vaun was putting his trust in her. Maybe he was forcing it to create a placebo effect, or maybe he really believed it. The latter was less likely. 

They came upon the familiar SUV from before, kept under watch in rotations by guards due to thieves and siphons. Vaun crawled into the backseat with Camden, while Quinlan and an unnamed driver sat up front. They pulled out of the garage and headed south, making use of back streets and lesser travelled areas. The atmosphere this time wasn’t as uncomfortable; she’d started to get acclimated to the Hunters' quietness, along with their occasion rattles or clicks. The enclosed space of the car felt safe—she came to dislike wide-open spaces as it meant it was easier to see her. But, the strigoi were no strangers to small spaces, either. They never seemed to care or have a sense of claustrophobia. Neither did she, but it just meant that almost nowhere was safe. 

Meanwhile, all three Hunters tried to distract themselves with something to ease the ringing in their ears caused by the human. The thrumming of the blood within her body was constant, and incredibly hard to ignore. It was strong and healthy, now that her illness had almost completely subsided. The faint smell still lingered on her, though; disease always had that kind of effect. 

Camden remembered the pack of gum she’d swiped from their trip prior. Spearmint. She found it in the pocket of the coat and pulled a piece out, chewing away at it. It was pretty pathetic, but, that was the most flavor thing she’d tasted in a while. It was a true treat. 

Unable to ignore the sound of her chewing, Quinlan's nerves grated. _What an obnoxious noise._

Vaun didn’t voice it, but the sharp smell of the spearmint was quite revolting. He couldn’t imagine what it tasted like, and didn’t want to, either. Camden saw him out of the corner of her eye watching her jaw and turned to him. “I’m not guessing you want any of this?” 

“No,” Quinlan groaned. “The sound of you chewing that is making me irate.” 

“Fine, fine,” she sighed. Shameful waste, but she didn’t want to further annoy him, especially since this mission seemed important.

She cracked the window down and tossed it out. The sunlight from outside shined into the window, and she leaned her cheek against it as if expecting to to be warm. It wasn’t. In fact, she pulled away with a light hiss; it was freezing against her sensitive skin. 

Vaun didn’t exactly feel “guilty” seeing it...but he did understand. That’s how he felt out in the daylight. Hot, uncomfortable. It burned his eyes. Yet, he felt her as he could sympathize with her situation. The humans were creatures of the sun and warmth, not the chilly darkness of the compound. He wouldn’t have been particularly fond of having to live in the wake of daylight, just as she wasn't a fan of the compound. But she endured it nonetheless without complaint—something he could probably have learned a thing or two of. 

“Miss the sunlight?” Quinlan inquired, observing her from behind the seat. 

She didn’t answer for a moment. Vaun thought she wasn’t even going to until she said somberly, “Just ready for it to be springtime.”

Quinlan hummed and looked over to his right. A pair of humans, two young men, scavenging an old radio repair shop. _You won’t find anything of much use there._ They watched the car closely as they passed by, suspicious, but visibly relaxed as they did not stop. Camden didn’t see them as she was on the opposite side looking out her window. 

“It’s eerie,” she murmured, “being near city limits like this. They once stopped all traffic to and fro the city, you know.” 

“One last desperate measure to keep the outbreak contained,” Vaun commented. “Ultimately useless.” Something seemed to catch his attention as they drove past a store with a large, broken window. Likely a new nest forming somewhere in there; a waft of ammonia hit him. It was good that it was midday, otherwise, the car would have roused them. 

“Coming on the place,” Quinlan mentioned. They approached a well-kempt building, outfitted in glass all the way. Both him and Vaun cringed inwardly at the amount of sunlight that would be pouring in. They’d have to keep away from the windows, if they could. Vaun pulled up his hood down taut as Quinlan did, both knowing that it would be uncomfortable. Camden kept hers down, unlike them, and instead opted to tighten her hair in its band. 

The driver pulled them over nearby next to the sidewalk, all piling out beside himself. He would stay with the car. On instinct, Vaun felt compelled to reach for his rifle. It was his trusty weapon. But it wasn’t there; just the little handgun at his side. His hands felt empty without it, and it definitely made him feel more vulnerable. 

They walked toward the hotel to be greeted by the two men at either side of the entrance, who demanded their intentions. Both had their own semi-automatics and vests. Seeing this, it made Vaun regret listening to Quinlan and leaving his rifle behind.   
The two strigoi stood back, turned to the side as they urged Camden to press on. They’d gone through this. Tell the guards who she is and that they're here for the discussion. Simple enough; but not so much in execution when the subjects have loaded weapons aimed at you. 

She came up slowly and steadily, displaying her hands so that they could see. The burly one shot out his hand and told her to stop, which she heeded immediately. “What’s this?” he questioned. She wished he’d put his gun down as his buddy pretty much had them covered with his own, but he stayed readied. 

“Not here to cause trouble,” she reasoned. “Just to talk.” 

“And who are _you_?” the man asked, eyeing between her and Vaun and Quinlan, who were lagging about twenty feet back. They had stayed behind to let her do the talking.

“Mathers,” she stated simply. “Uh…Camden. You weren’t expecting us?” She wanted to shy away from the gun he had out and ready, but stood her ground. “We're here about the trade deal.” The man relaxed his arm and lowered the weapon slightly.

“No, we know. But it’s protocol.” 

“I understand. Will you let us through?” she asked. She has to keep herself from wanting to squirm underneath his gaze; it wasn’t so chaste. 

“Yeah? What about those two back there?” the shorter guard asked, coming off a little aggressively. His dirty blond hair was bedraggled and messy, and his demeanor tightly wound. Pupils dilated even though the sun was out and bright that day. She suspected for a moment that he was tweaking out on something, but couldn’t be completely sure. She still tried to handle it with as much grace as she could, despite his erratic behavior. 

After explaining what it was they were there for, the blond finally relented and lowered his weapon. The other did so as well. The taller man stepped aside, “Fine. Wait in the lobby, and do not go anywhere until we say so,” he ordered. She nodded and gestured for Quinlan and Vaun to step up. The sober guard told the blond to stay and keep watch of the three as he went to inform their coordinator of their guests.

“Sure, whatever,” he snapped, rubbing his nose roughly. 

With his gun still up, the two _strigoi_ sauntered in. Camden stood near the front desk, while they hung back by a windowless wall, not particular fans of the setting. It was a large lobby, with a tall ceiling revealing the floors above them. It was so clean and sterile that it had felt like the oddest thing. She supposed she’d, in a way, gotten used to the dankness of the compound, but this was a breath of fresh air.

The guard kept trying to sneak looks of Vaun and Quinlan when he thought they were unaware. Bad idea. “Hey,” he barked, “what’s wrong with you?” His dilated eyes narrowed, hands hovering on his rifle. 

Neither of them answered. Camden watched with a nervous wince as he suddenly leaned toward Quinlan and grabbed a hold of his hood, trying to pull it down. The keen hybrid caught this as soon as the human moved and snatched his forearm in his hand. His grip on it was so tight that the man grunted in pain, “Fuck! Let go!” as he thrashed. 

Vaun jabbed at Quinlan's side with his elbow as a woman well into her fifties, accompanied by the previous guard plus an extra, came into the lobby from hall jointed hall. He let go of the nosey man, who inelegantly stumbled away, weapon in hand. He looked tempted to shoot until the woman halted him. “That’s enough, Michael,” she said authoritatively. He stood down, not without first shooting Quinlan a nasty glare. Neither strigoi wanted to deal with the outrage about their appearances. 

Camden found her way to Vaun's left and tilted her chin up to his ear to whisper, “That guy is on something.” 

“I can smell it,” he grumbled quietly, not looking away from the woman. “Go to her.” He lightly pushed her forward. Call it what you will, Camden was not expecting a woman. Maybe it had been movies or internalized ideas growing up; she fully expected some clean-cut, calculated man to stride in. But she was met with a woman, dressed “business casual”, minus the heels. Someone quite normal looking, actually.

“Ah,” the woman warbled, closing the gap between them. Her hand reached out for a shake, which Camden was quick to reciprocate.

She felt a little conscious of how clammy her palms were compared to the smooth dryness of hers. “You must be Miss Mathers. Vera Grimes,” she said. “I hope this wasn’t too short-notice for you.” She smiled, her wine-colored lipstick creasing in the cracks of her lips. Admittedly, balm was hard to find. 

It _was_ short-notice for Camden. This was all new to her. 

“Not at all,” Camden replied coyly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…” she trailed, trying to remember her name. _Shit. What was her name_? She might as well have just had a stroke right then and there. 

Quinlan shook his head disapprovingly. He hadn’t expected much from her, but he didn’t think she’d ruin her streak so fast. Smooth. He didn’t totally think all hope was lost, though. Camden had been surprisingly composed so far. 

“Vera Grimes” the woman chuckled, “and you as well.” 

Camden laughed sheepishly, catching herself before she started to chew on the inside of her mouth again.   
Vera peered past her and said, “You two can put your hoods down. You're not strangers here, I’ve seen your kind before.” Camden fleetingly wondered if she meant the feral _strigoi_. If she had, she was in for a surprise—both were tame. 

Without much hesitation, Quinlan lost his hood. There was no sense in hiding. Vaun was reluctant to be so open about it, but followed suit anyway. The now three guards in the room all stared in disbelief at the strigoi and the hybrid. She might have seen their kind before, but their reactions told all too much. 

“At ease, at ease,” the woman said. “You two, stay here. You're excused, Michael.” 

He was glad to leave. Scurrying out of the room, Grimes apologized for his behavior. “He got into some stuff during the last shipment.” She smiled humbly. Sensing the uncertainty in Camden, she decided to she’d get the ball rolling by inviting them up to her office. She wasn’t about to get in the elevator with the strigoi, though. The first time it had happened was the last time it would—the bastard Thomas Eichhorst made sure of her newfound wariness. 

“Come with me, Miss Mathers,” she instructed, taking to Camden's side with an arm around her back. “I’m sure we have a lot to talk about.” 

“Wait,” Vaun called out before he could stop himself. This, in theory, was how it was supposed to go. They’d doubted that Vera would actually let them up there to participate. That was why they instructed Camden on what to say—but it was still infuriating. He didn’t like idly sitting by in the lobby, just waiting around for her to return. Even only listening in was not left as a viable option if they went upstairs. 

Quinlan looked down at him impassively, telling him without words to zip it. 

Shuffling past Vera and Camden, the two lackeys found their place far away from the _strigoi_. They didn’t have their weapons drawn, but they were prepared to on a dime, if need be. Quinlan ignored their constant watch and observed their surroundings. 

“Well,” he breathed out. “Let’s hope your girl does not mess this up.” 

“My ‘girl’?” Vaun retorted. “No.” He scoffed, as if he was insulted by even just thought. This was a bad time to be trying to get a rise of out of him. And it was working, unfortunately. 

“You need to get your mind out of the gutter. You're getting complacent.” 

Vaun let out a low, rattling hiss, crossing his arms. “How so?”

“Being so lenient. Not like your usual self with the human allies,” Quinlan said bluntly. “After all this time, you're going to lose yourself to someone this easily?” 

“I'm not,” Vaun scowled, “you are delusional.” 

To Vaun, it was telling the truth. He believed it. He had his mind concluded. He didn’t know why Camden looked familiar. It was just one of those…things in life, where you couldn’t explain it. A little mystery. But it didn’t matter—that’s all it was. They were in need of another ally, and he got one. 

Cut and dry. 

“Then prove it,” Quinlan commanded. “When we get back, you leave her to her training with Lar. She clearly does not need your help anymore.” 

“I will,” Vaun answered finally, putting an end to the argument. He would prove it. Quinlan was correct; she didn’t need his help anymore, now that she had gotten over most of her ailment. There was no more need to. He wouldn’t baby her nor make her comfortable. They required hardened people, not those who feel entitled to certain treatment.   
It was time to get back into action. His normal routine, what he’d missed. 

Camden squeezed past the large guard and the entrance to the elevator, trying to keep out of the way. She was a little amazed to see that they still had power. Must have been backup generators, or the fact that they had charged civilians gas in return for ration cards. Still, to be in the light-shrouded lobby, where she could see well and feel less out of her element was oddly comforting. But the elevator was cramped and admittedly uncomfortable, with the guard to her left and Miss Grimes to her right. The woman stood a couple of inches taller than her. Smelled of some kind of floral perfume, which hit her every time she turned her head even slightly toward her. Being in such a tight space made Camden feel overly-aware of her own scent. Did she stink? Smell musty from the compound? She hadn’t showered in a few days. It was an impression she wasn’t eager to make. 

“Relax, Miss Mathers,” she chortled abruptly, almost startling Camden to a flinch. She couldn’t help her jump at the hand suddenly on her shoulder. “Your…colleagues will be fine. As long as they don't act out, that is.”

Colleagues. Could they be considered that? Just that? Either way, Camden really didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know Vaun or Quinlan enough to guarantee what constituted as their “best” behavior. With how skilled they were, though, she would worry more about the humans down there than the _strigoi_. They were deadly, indeed—and not to be tested, because whoever did, would quickly be proven wrong. Even just with the measly handgun Vaun was equipped with, she reckoned that he could still really do some damage. 

Not to mention the sword that sat on Quinlan's back, that which he was so adroit with.

Camden opted to give her a reassured hum, along with a forced smile just to avoid responding. There wasn’t much to say besides what was running in her mind. I doubt your lackeys would stand a chance, to be honest. 

The elevator dinged at the third floor, where the three got out, following behind Vera as she led them to her office. The hallway was lined with windows. She could see out into the suburbs, and then some into the city, where the high-rises could be spotted. A few towers of smoke. She hadn’t gotten a higher perspective of the city since the outbreak, so seeing it from up above was like seeing a different world. It still looked like New York City, yes…but it wasn’t anymore. 

It was no longer home.

“I haven't seen it like this,” Camden murmured as she stopped, staring sadly at the scene before her. 

“Oh, that?” Vera warbled. “You get used to it. I find the violence comforting, in a strange way. It means people are still fighting. You have to fight, now, if you want to live. Do you get it?”

“It’s scary. I don't like seeing it reduced to this.”

Camden felt warm, dry hands cup hers. The coldness of a ring brushed up against her skin, and when she looked closer, she saw it was a wedding band. 

“It _is_ scary, love. But we're up here,” she said, turning them to the windows, “we’re on top, where it’s safe.” 

Confused, Camden released her hands and took her eyes away from the window. “What do you mean?” she asked softly. Her fingers played with the tight hem of the coat, which was becoming too warm on her. She wanted it wriggle out of it.   
“What I mean is you don't have to live like them. Wallowing on the streets of that city, scavenging like an animal...you are not an animal.” 

Camden hadn’t realized until it touched her, but one of her hands gently made it onto her cheek, stroking at the bone. She felt inclined to pull away—this could not be considered proper conduct. But something about the innocent touch of another person had her feeling so warm inside that she didn’t say anything, nor back off. Just allowed her to do it. 

“Come, now. The day's young,” she announced, taking her hand away herself. Her and the guard followed Miss Grimes into the office, which was as nice as the rest of the place. A sofa, lots of natural light—it was long overdue that things had felt so normal.   
The guard dragged a chair to the front of the desk and ushered her into it, and Vera took her own spot behind it. He stood back attentively beside the door, hands crossed in front of him. 

Camden knew she wouldn’t be doing anything to warrant him pulling his gun. But him being there still made her feel squeamish, like if she accidentally said or did something, he’d be on it in a flash. There's nothing to worry about. As long as I don’t do anything stupid, nothing will happen. It truly was an unnecessary worry; Camden probably looked about as harmless as a fly itself. Would the coordinator of this business be so? 

Being on correct behavior felt like more of a task than she’d anticipated. She didn't know if she was walking on eggshells or not.

Vera cleared her throat and propped her arms up loosely, keeping steady eye contact with Camden the whole time. They eyes were intensely greyish-green. “I assume you were informed of what this was about,” she started. 

“The weapons trade,” Camden responded, thinking off the top of her head. 

"Alright, let's get started, then. I know you've come for the weapon trade. The thing is, you'll need to do _us_ a favor before you have access to any of those shipments. And preferably, you'll tell me what these weapons are going for." 

Vaun had told her she would definitely ask why they needed the weapons. They planned on recruiting several more Sun Hunters. She wasn't sure if Vera would even believe her; the blight of the Master and his legions, all hidden beneath the city in its tunnels. He'd already begun phase two of his pandemic: infecting more people. There were on the high-end of a thousandcrawling right underneath the city, lest the hundreds above ground doing their work. Staying alive. It was like the buildup before a tsunami—the newly-turned _strigoi_ would eventually withdraw back underground, and once the Master deemed their numbers fit, the wave would rise and rain then down on that city like God. 

The longer they waited, the more unstoppable he seemed. 

It was no longer just about the city. If they were not contained, all hell would be unleashed.

Camden wasn't sure exactly how to answer. She contemplated on just coming out with it, and then dealing with explanations later. Something told her that this woman was an adamant one. She wouldn't go without a thorough run-through of their plans. But, she couldn't blame Vera; she was trying to _restore_ order to the city, as useless as it seemed. So handing out weapons to a group of albeit incriminating strangers was not an option. 

"Do you know how this outbreak started, Miss Grimes?" 

"I'll admit that I don't, in fact," she responded, exasperated. It wasn't surprising, most people had no idea. All it took was the transport of a coffin which would usher in the threat to mankind.

 _Augustin Elizalde._ Where it all started, arguably. 

"We're not here to go into that fully, but what I _can_ tell you right now is that our cause is to stop what started this. The outbreak, I mean." 

Vera grinned at her weirdly and tilted her head a bit. "We're already on that, honey."

Already on it? A vaccine was impossible—said so by the doctor Ephraim Goodweather himself over a broadcast. One she had been both glad to have been able to see and terrified to hear. If a vaccine was impossible, then there was no other option than complete eradication. 

"I don't think I understand. You're not talking about a vaccine, so what?" Camden asked, confused. 

"Yes, it is true that I'm not talking about a vaccine. That has been proven to be impossible. But what my scientists come on the brink of discovering could change the game _completely._ "

She pulled out a folder of papers from a drawer on the desk, sliding it over to Camden. "Just see for yourself. It's all right there." 

Opening up the folder, she took a clip of papers out and immediately saw in bold text, _immunity loophole._ The rest read of a lot of terms that she'd never even heard, not to mention could barely understand. But through the complex vocabulary she could piece together what it was talking about. The antibodies of a vaccine would not work on the infected, as once they were turned via the worms, the bloodstream and immune system was swiftly and completely compromised. No bloodstream to carry the antibodies, no immunity. But this spoke of... alternative means. The worms carried the disease, which worked in conjunction with them to turn the host. 

"We think we can sort of...partially turn people, in a way. Without the worms—if you get them, it's over, unless our theory is correct. The creatures don't try to reinfect each other, they seem to be able to 'sense' who has the disease and who doesn't. So, what if we made ourselves invisible to them? Infected, but not turned?"

It was a strange idea. The entire theory did not hinge on whether the Master could prompt the _strigoi_ to pass the worms even if the humans were "invisible", but how the worms themselves would interact with an already-diseased host. 

As she read down the page, eyes scanning all the diagrams of blood proteins, viruses, RNA alteration, she felt almost overwhelmed. Could it have been true? And at the very bottom of the page, one sentence caught her eye in particular: _further human testing required._ She felt that she knew where this discussion was going. It was an inference rather than a truth, at least not yet—but the slight cock of Vera's brows as Camden looked up at her confirmed her suspicions. 

"We would like for your group to, let's see...collect some people for us. It's been hard to get volunteers, with how much talking is done. To say it how it is, my people can't be caught smuggling testees. Not after one little birdie decided to sing about the possible...side effects."

"And now no one wants to offer themselves," Camden finished it for her, eyeing Vera. Her face lit up at that, and she got up from her chair and came over to Camden, leaning against the desk. She felt uncomfortable with the close proximity—it suddenly felt weird. Unwelcome. 

"That's exactly right. We can't get anyone to. How selfish is that?" 

Camden's face turned to a look of disbelief. How hypocritical of that woman to say something so callous. It was kind of disgusting to her, Vera's lack of regard for the people. 

"What do you mean 'selfish'?" she questioned, bewildered. 

"Oh, please. Don't give me that. We're talking about the future of humanity here, how do a few random lives stack against the entirety? You would be a fool to not see the potential here!" Vera argued back. She'd stepped even closer to the flighty Camden, who in turn shot up from her chair. A heavy hand laid itself on her shoulder and shoved her back down into the chair, keeping her in place. 

"Leave it, Jack," Vera ordered abduptly. The guard retracted his hand and stepped away, all the while giving Camden an intimidating look. "He's just protective. I saved his life, you know." 

Camden shifted uncomfortably in the chair, internally debating on whether she wanted to get up again or not. After a moment of tense silence, she said, "I'll have to...talk to them. They are not the ones in charge." She meant the Ancients. Vaun definitely had no power over their procedures, but once given the greenlight, he has his own methods. Quinlan, on the other hand, was more or less flexible. He did what he pleased or deemed necessary a majority of the time, though still worked within the perimeters of his and the Ancients' common goal. 

Vera hummed and slipped around the back of her chair, which made Camden wish she'd gotten up before. Then a hand on the side of her head, rubbing gently—but she felt so strange that it was not comforting, no. It felt more like a power move on Vera's end, so subtle, yet impacting. 

"Then you'll talk to them. Now, I don't think you're a dumb girl, Miss Mathers. I actually believe the opposite; you're not dumb enough to pass this up. So, you can go and regroup with your colleagues, and we can meet up again soon." 

She removed her hand from her head and moved away, skirting back over behind the desk. She took the papers and dropped them in Camden's lap. "A courtesy. Take note of the names on the form, you might be meeting them," she grinned with a wink. Camden looked over the list of contributors, most unknown to her aside from a couple. And then the most notable: Doctor Ephraim Goodweather. 

_So he's been caught up._ She wanted to ask when the doctor had joined with their organization, but, it was erroneous information. He hadn't mentioned that on his broadcast. 

Camden nodded shallowly and finally stood up from her seat, adjusting her jacket as to occupy her hands. She was getting antsy, ready to leave. "When will we meet again?" she asked out of formality. Vera told her, same place, whatever time was convenient for both parties. Mostly for Vera; she was a busy woman. So, Camden exchanged mandatory goodbyes with her and started to set off, before Vera spoke again. 

“Please escort Miss Mathers to the elevator."

The guard didn't say anything as he trailed her out of the office and into the hallway. She didn't look back, but could still hear the closeness of his footsteps right behind her, along with the faint noise his gun made as he moved. If Vera was worried that Camden would bug off somewhere in the building to snoop or something of that nature, she was mistaken. Camden wasn't so bold, not to mention plain idiotic. She didn't even know what there would be to find.

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the ground floor button, glad to have lost the guard. He stood outside watching her intently as the doors slid shut. Ont theride down, she heaved a deep breath—in, and out. Repeat three or four times until relaxed. She wasn't afraid, per say, no. But she was apprehensive. She knew that Vera did not play around.

Back down in the lobby, she met up with Vaun and Quinlan and started toward the car with them, feeling a strange accomplishment despite everything. She liked to think that she nailed it, or at least did so as nimbly as she could. It had been her first job with them, after all. The real test of it would be if either of them were pleased, otherwise, she’d be knocked right back to square one. That got her to thinking on her own need to satisfy. She was one to please, truly. It made her proud to do a good job, and she could only hope to do so in the future if this deal went through, because by God, she'd never done anything like it. 

The walk back to the car was dishearteningly quiet. She didn't know what she had expected, though she'd figured that they would have at least _something_ to say. But Vaun seemed more distant than before, choosing to walk on the far side of the sidewalk while she hugged the opposite edge. 

Quinlan was ready to leave the daylight behind as he hopped into the front seat of the SUV, waiting for Camden and Vaun to get in. They would talk on it further once they were back at the compound, but he wanted an overview of how it went. Was it well-received? Was the woman as shrew as he thought she would have been, based on the rumors? Perhaps they _had been_ just rumors. But regardless, he bet his bottom dollar that they were true. He'd seen the slyness of these people all too much in his life. 

As the two got into the car, Vaun said with a sense of conviction, "We should have been in there. The woman insists on an armed guard being alone with Camden, and yet it was acceptable for _her_ to go in alone.” 

Vaun knew Vera was paranoid underneath that calm façade. Extremely so. But it was simply unjust to ask of them to bend to her rules while having none of their own. And one of their rules? Generally, no one goes alone. Beside Quinlan—he was rogue. But for everyone else, that’s how it was. 

When you become part of the nest, you conduct yourself as you would in a nest. 

“Doesn't matter. Come on, human, tell us already.” 

_Too much pride to use my name_? “I was getting to that,” Camden said as she shimmied out of the coat, tossing it into the seat between her and Vaun. Her turtleneck underneath was feeling itchier than ever, and all she wanted to do was get back to the compound so she could rid herself of it. 

“Did she tell you anything about the labs?” Vaun asked. 

She fastened her buckle, “Yeah, she did. They think they’re close to...something. Some kind of immunity loophole, where they're half infected. No worms."

“The damned scientists,” Quinlan scoffed. “They’ve been badgering on it for how long now, and have gotten nowhere.” 

“That’s the thing,” Camden replied, “they did get somewhere. And that’s why she wants us to 'collect' people so they can…experiment.” It felt so low to say that. If she weren't under obligation, she would have wanted to walk out. _A few random lives in the face of all of us._ As true as it was, it was a hard pill to swallow.

Quinlan didn't say anything else, so, she kept talking. “We do the dirty work for her so she can’t get caught red-handed, and you guys get the supplies from their militia.” 

The driver navigated them out of the street, avoiding the toppled telephone poles, wrecked cars and other obstacles. The place was a mess.

“I’m not surprised,” Quinlan responded plainly. 

“They’re trying to play us. They drew the militia from almost half the city to leave us to exterminate, and now they get just what they want, no work at all.” 

Vaun was as keen as Quinlan was. Both of them were knowing of the woman's intentions just from that small amount of information. Still, it was dodging the real issue. “This extermination effort is useless as long as the Master lives.” 

“He is still crippled by the attack on the tunnels,” Vaun said confidently, “it'll take him some to regain his numbers. If we want to take this opportunity, we need to do it fast.” 

He hadn’t really much faith in the human scientists, true, but maybe a vaccine _was_ possible. Maybe his skepticism was uninformed; he hadn’t ever been involved in the medical scene in his lifetime, anyway. He’d seen firsthand just how much humanity progressed in the recent years, and it seemed like they were only going to get faster. “You know the Master will target the labs,” Quinlan mentioned. “He’s already sicced Eichhorst on Grimes for their supposed 'loophole'. Their labs will be the nail in the coffin if he gets to them.” 

“Then we'll do what she says,” Camden said unexpectedly. “I can…help collect the people. They'll trust me."

Quinlan shot a glance back at her, contemplating on her prompt bluntness. She wasn’t one to just jump into a conversation between them. But it wasn’t just that; the idea was crude enough. Was it a waste of time? Or could it buy them more time? A blocked would not stop the Master. It would only slow him down. But that was what they needed—more time. 

Maybe the girl was not so ignorant after all. 

“We'll have to take this up with the Ancients,” said Vaun, “their word is final."


	10. Chapter Ten

The light tap of dress shoes against floors. A hand running across the table, and a little sweep to the papers on it. They fell off and scattered on the ground, making Vera scoop them up and reorder them on compulsion. She despised clutter and messes. 

“Still as neurotic as ever,” the voice spoke with a hint of condescension. 

Vera didn’t reply and rose from her crouch, giving the grinning man a cold look. She had not been expecting him to drop by. Not by a long shot. For a minute there, she thought that perhaps she was free to go. But, he always came back. There wasn’t anywhere she could hide where he wouldn’t find her. It was pointless to try to flee.

“I did what you asked,” Vera eventually said, clutching the files, “they’re assessing.” 

“And who was this representative of theirs?” he asked in return. A _strigoi_ crept behind Vera, blocking the doorway. 

She set the medical research down on the desk and tried to straighten up. She smoothed her dress down, “A girl, Camden Mathers. No older than twenty-three and new as they come.” Watching the suited man amble about the room inspecting things, she grew a little tense. Silence from him was foreboding, indeed—had it not been so difficult to tell what was working in that mind of his. 

He hummed and took one of her knick-knacks off of a shelf and rotated it. A small, antique, brass bust of a woman. “What is the verdict?” The hint of an accent laced some of his words when he spoke. 

“I think they’ll agree. The next meeting is in a week from now to deal the deal, if it goes through.” 

The man's absentminded grin fell, and he looked over at her, putting the statue back in its place. “If?” he inquired lowly. The _strigoi_ across the room rattled as if ready to jump on Vera on its superior's signal, but stayed put. It made Vera increasingly anxious, even though she knew that she would be of no use to the man dead or turned. No, she was the face of the operation. It would be wasteful.   
Vera put on a neutral expression and answered his inquiry, “Mister Eichhorst, I can only try.” It was hard for her to choke that one out, such a pathetic little justification. He wouldn’t take it. 

He closed the gap between them and stood rigidly before the woman, the clear blues of his eyes visible from so close. “You won't try,” he started, “you will do. Get out of my sight.” 

With that, she swept up her folders and waited until the _strigoi_ blocking the doorway moved before briskly walking out of the room. She heard the door behind her forcefully shut as she retreated down the hall. It was all the reminder she needed. She would do it. She had to—it was that or face his wrath. Everything went crumbling down if Eldritch's funding was cut. 

She met with her cab and bodyguard outside of the building and hurriedly got in, putting away one of the folders in her bag. Cracking open the other, she flipped to a section displaying several photos and reports taken of a certain brown-haired girl. Now-inactive social media accounts, records, connections. As much as they could find. 

She sighed and looked over the information. “Alright, little cat…don't be stupid.” 

Even with feeling low about her intentions, by and by, she read over the nearly the whole report. She wanted some kind of leverage. Her parents, maybe, who were living somewhere in the suburbs on the far end of the city. They hadn’t located them, but, she doubted that it would do much. Knowing the state of the place and how quickly things were escalating, realistically, they’d probably already been killed or turned. Same went for her younger brother, who was living at their residence is well. It wasn’t enough, though. They couldn’t guarantee anything. Not unless they confirmed the rest of the family’s whereabouts and their…condition. 

“Home?” her trusted driver asked, a man who she’d known for years. He took notice of the concealer that had worn off underneath her eyes, which revealed the dark circles caused by restless nights. 

Tired and done, she closed up the folder and tucked it back down into her bag. “Yes, no stops.” 

“Alright, then,” he responded. They began to set off out of the carport and toward her penthouse in lower Manhattan. “And, Miss Grimes? Do get some rest. You look terrible.” 

Vera let out a chuckle mixed with a soft scoff, “You were always so honest, Jacob.” 

He hummed agreeably as he navigated the now-vacated streets of the safe district, where most people were tucked away in their homes for the night. The people, they didn’t like having to stay in—but it was necessary. The creatures moving under the cover of night hunted just past sundown, and anyone out at that time would be responsible for themselves. Those that did, though, would not always have the crutch of the militia, as they were not able to be everywhere at once. 

Regardless, some people were out and about that night. Doing their rounds as usual, those who did not care and those who needed to get things done. Most stayed put until sunrise due to paranoia; Vera couldn’t blame them. Even being a “safe” zone, there were sometimes still accidents. 

“Oh, I remember when these streets were so busy,” Jacob sighed, turning a corner. About a mile ahead both could see her penthouse rivalling the buildings next to it. She truly was blessed, she thought. Though all the work had been done herself. It was not God who did this for her. Perhaps a combination of relentless work and somewhat happenstance—once in a while, things just worked in her favor. Lady Luck had touched her life when she’d needed it most. Being born into the right family certainly was a factor.

Vera watched the lights of the city streak by as they drove. When they were in the safe zones, it was like her own little world where things were still okay. It was a vacuum, so removed from the rest of the city. “They will be once again,” she said in response, “we just need to get things in order.” 

“In any other situation I might have said you were right, Miss Grimes. But these are times like no other.” 

“There have been pandemics all throughout history. We lived to tell the tale.” 

“As I said,” he started, looking at her through the rearview mirror, “this one is like no other.” 

Silence befell the car as he finished their commute, and he made sure that she made it safely to the lobby before driving off. He rolled down the passenger side window so she could hear him call out, “Stay safe, Miss Grimes.” 

“And you as well, Jacob,” she said. He flashed a smile at her and adjusted his cap, then rolled the window back up, headed off. She made her way up to her penthouse and divested herself of her satchel before falling onto her sofa. It was so hard not to sit there and just cry. Her job was a stressful one, start to finish—and now it partly hinged on a young girl's decision. She would have rather had such a colloquy with _anyone_ more seasoned. 

She thought back on Eichhorst's words and wanted to simply shudder. Would have never admitted it, but, she was terrified of him. Rightly so. She was playing with absolute fire going behind his back with the experiments—he’d made it clear his stance on it. No cures, no vaccines. It was a total undermine of their relationship. But, she couldn’t stop. Every step was a deliberate one, walking on the fine line of secrecy and discovery. He would have her head if he found out. 

As long as he was getting his…supply, he was happy. As pleased as he could be with her. And she would deliver no matter what, because underneath their facilities, in their hidden labs, it was dirty deeds that which would make ends meet. She would be celebrated for it, one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to post such a short chapter. I had to think about it for a little bit, and them kept choosing to play Rocket League instead of writing lol.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter coming by Tuesday loves. :) Thank you for reading.

Back at the compound, Vaun's first order of business was to get Camden to the training hall, where he would really bring the heat. It was the next day after their meeting with Vera, and Camden was more or less expecting it. She was wondering if she’d said or done something wrong the rest of the previous evening when she had hardly seen nor heard of Vaun. She wasn’t about to venture out into the compound on her own—that had been just a little too bold for her. Not yet, at least. But, she did make sure to eat and mentally prepare.

Vaun barged into her chamber out of nowhere that morning just as she awoke. “Get up and get dressed,” he said, “and quickly.” He kept his hand on the door and shut it promptly behind him as soon as he was done.The demand was said in such a way that had her up almost immediately, scrambling around to find her clothes. It was so warm and oddly humid in the compound. It made her wonder briefly if they really did hate the cold, or if they physically could not stand it. Either way, the climate made her feel constantly in a state of overheating. 

She slipped on her pants and an undershirt, along with the heavy-material coat that Vaun had given her for their excursion. Not only for that, apparently; while the stinger of a _strigoi_ could pierce the fabric with enough determination, it was a first line of defense. It was so hot, but, she was glad to have it. The idea of being transmitted a worm in a circumstance so unceremonious as training made her cringe. She couldn’t face such an irony. What a way to go. 

Outside, she met with Vaun who was as curt as he was when they’d first met. How strange it was for her to experience it all over again—and disappointing. She’d hoped to have forged a better friendship with him if her stay would be permanent.

She followed behind him in silence as he lead her to the training hall. Vaun wouldn't say it, but, the lightness of her footfalls rivalled his own. He could have been likened to a cat with his own stealth, so quiet and soft and deliberate when needed. But that was after months of painful training with Quinlan himself after Vaun had first arrived, only being newly-turned and as clumsy as a newly-turned _strigoi_ was. He remembered being young. The pain of the last stage of transformation, how it made his body ache and burn. The buzzing in his ears. That was what he recalled: the pain of it. A torturous process, really; he secretly did not blame the newly-turned _strigoi_ for being so incredibly agitated—it was a terrible thing, the transformation. 

They came to a a large door, which Vaun roughly pushed open. He guided her into a huge room filled with rows upon rows of pillars. They obscured vision and made things disorienting. Sense of direction was a hard thing to grasp when navigating them. 

Although Camden wasn’t even sure what the setup was for, they did give her a slight sense of dread. She knew how turned-around she could get in the midst of the pillars. 

“What is this for?” she asked, pointing vaguely at the mess of pillars as Vaun produced a handgun.

“To assess. Take this,” he said simply. She took the gun he was presenting her and checked the safety. _Off_. Her suspicions were confirmed—a live firearm in a training hall. He told her that there were only enough bullets in the chamber to take down one strigoi, and to use them wisely. 

“Stay quiet and control your breathing. They'll be blindfolded, but they can hear much better than you. So watch it, or you might just get pounced on.” 

“Be quiet,” she repeated softly to herself, trying to maintain her tightly-strung nerves. “Okay, Camden, you can do that…you know how to do that. “ She repeated this most two or three times as he guided her to the middle of the maze-like place before leaving her stranded to stand upon his perch above her. He saw instantly that familiarly defensive reaction, the lowering of the stance, looking all around. He gave one of the assistant hunters the okay to let loose the blindfolded _strigoi_ into the hall, which immediately set out after the human. It was headed in her general direction, though obviously was not sure exactly where she was. She stopped moving and listened as closely as she could. The creature was unnervingly stealthy without even trying; she had to strain just to hear the infrequent sound of it rattling. Wherever it was, it was coming on her fast. 

Vaun watched as she ducked past a set of pillars as the _strigoi_ darted near her position, on the trail of the scent she left. She would come to curse her problem with body odor—it was a dead giveaway. The fact that the hall was so warm and made her sweat didn't help. 

The sound of its footsteps became more and more noticeable. It was right around the corner somewhere...but which way? It was so difficult for her inept senses to place. 

She had to stifle a sharp gasp and shove it down her throat as she saw the _strigoi_ lurking out of the corner of her eye, circling her area. Whether it knew precisely where she was, she didn’t know. It was blinded but had otherwise keen senses. She weaved through some of the pillars, keeping her arms pulled close. Only when she had a clear shot of the creature would she make herself big again.   
She knew that she couldn’t continue playing keep-away. She wasn’t there to run and hide—it was a waste of everyone's time, especially Vaun's. The longer she remained timid, the more disapproving he grew. So, she sucked up her fear. It was time to be _bold_. For once. If she could do it just one time, perhaps a second. And then a third. 

She came to a sudden halt and took a deep breath. Just breathe. The sound of tattered clothes ruffling slightly and hurried footsteps close by flooded her senses—it was all she could hear. 

Vaun instinctively drew back a little as the sound of the gun firing within the space rang out, cutting the dead silence with the intrusive noise. Then, one more. Camden was not a sharpshooter, that was clear. But that can skill can be nurtured and grown. For now, though, she had actually done it. The second round hit somewhere in the top of its forehead, while the first had missed. It was good enough; the shot had incapacitated the _strigoi_. 

As soon as it was downed, Camden let her guard fall and stepped back, watching the white blood of the creature spill onto the floor. This time around, she had not been running on simply autopilot. It was more deliberate, more well-placed. Not great, but _enough_. The rush of leftover adrenaline was a high in of itself, but she felt proud aside from it. This was a start. 

Seeing her letting her guard down caused Vaun to quickly allow Lar to release the second strigoi, which barreled in from an adjacent hall. Still blindfolded to protect their whereabouts, but much more fierce than the last. It was newly-turned an very angry.   
It was just a little amusing to Vaun to see how fast Camden’s face fell upon seeing the strigoi. She tried to fire once again, the gun only clicking emptily in response. She’d wasted both of her bullets. 

“Now,” Vaun announced, “hand to hand. Do what I told you.” 

What he’d told her. _The wattle is very fragile and tender. Even you could force your hand into it. Use your hands to pull the stinger out, and it will kill it._

That's what the gloves were for. 

Second she realized, it was instant panic. She dropped the gun and ran aimlessly away from the strigoi, which followed the sound of her labored breathing. It hissed and rattled, trained its hearing to every little sound she made. Her dancing around the issue caused Vaun to speak up.“ Offense, not defense,” he instructed, knowing that this maneuver of hers was pointless. He'd have to shake her of her instincts. “Go for the neck like I told you to. Do you _remember_?"

She dodged one of the stinger's attempts and scurried to the side, trying to find an opening. The strigoi, more mature and agile than the last, was just too quick—wherever she moved, it did, too. Even despite being blindfolded, it was literally trying to hit a moving target. Only this time, risk was higher than ever before. 

“I can't!” she cried, jolting to avoid the stinger's second shot. It came dangerously close to her sternum. 

“You _can_ ,” Vaun replied firmly, “do it, or you are of no use to me!” 

She was over the edge. After ducking past its charge toward her, she reached around as quickly as she could, jamming her gloved hand into the flushed, red flesh of its wattle. It made grossly gutteral sounds and sprayed some blood as she grabbed a hold of the fleshy organ, which was tense, and began to pull. Pulled with all of her strength—some she hadn’t even known she had. It squealed and screeched in blind anger as she yanked it out more and more. 

The last tug was a hard one as she reeled back, trying to finish the job. It seemed to catch in its throat one last time before a bulb of somewhat cartilaginous flesh ripped out. She fell backwards with the residual force and choked a scream as she violently chucked the long organ to the side, shaking her hands free of a straggling worm. That had been the most terrifying part; seeing the worm so close to her skin. She didn’t know if it could penetrate fabric of not, but that was merely an afterthought as she frantically stripped of the gloves and tossed them aside as well. 

While she calmed herself, Vaun left the loft and headed down there to her. _So she can do it._

“I think you might have underestimated yourself," he warbled.

She didn’t respond and instead stayed leaning against herself, hands on her knees. Her legs were still shaking. Would he have really let the creature get her if she couldn't perform? She didn’t even want to think about it, but it kept dogging after her conscience.   
Vaun wasn’t prepared for what she did next, to say the least. She rose from her position and planted a hard shove to his chest, which only worked to send him back a step or two before he grabbed hold of her forearms. 

“Where did you think you were going with that?” he asked, holding the resistant girl. 

“Nowhere,” she bit back, “but you deserved it. I could have gotten stung, Vaun! What is wrong with you?” 

He loosened his grip on her arms slightly, and she promptly slipped free. Yes, he had sprang this test on her abruptly. It was part of the process for all Sun Hunters. But he'd told her everything she’d needed to know about how to subdue a strigoi. There was no real threat. If things had truly gotten out of control, Lar was there to step in. Though, she hadn't known that. 

Still, if she'd failed that test, they probably would have sent her away. Threw her back out into the city to fend for herself, and they would find someone more capable. There was no room for weakness within their cause. He was a little pleased to see that it was not necessary, in any case—he was glad to be correct. 

Despite the frustrating confusion she brought to him, there was something to work with in her. It felt good to prove Quinlan wrong.   
Vaun held up his hands flippantly and stepped back to give her some space. “You may be mad at me now, but you will thank me later. Now go back to your chamber, you're done for now. 

She didn’t argue or protest. Checked her gloves one last time for worms before picking them up and exiting the training hall, fuming too much to care that she was alone. She didn’t encounter a single soul on her way back beside one of the hunters, who did not approach her at all—he stayed back in the shadows, just watching. It was unnerving, but, she didn't react. 

She made it back to her chamber just fine and took to getting off those hot clothes right away. Fleetingly, she wished that she’d at least grabbed a pair of her exercise shorts when she had the chance back at her apartment. The jeans were becoming increasingly irritating to take on and off, considering that she tended to want to lose them as soon as she was alone. Vaun or Lar could come back any minute to make her get up and train, but that was the last thing on her mind. She found herself caring less and less when the hunters accidentally saw her without the clothes. To them, it was nothing—like seeing their fellow hunters unclothed. It was normal. That took her a hot minute to get used to. 

She lay back on the uncomfortable pallet and put her hands over her face, feeling exhausted. In reality, she really hadn’t done much. Pulling the stinger out took a lot of strength, but not enough to drain her so. It was likely just coming off of the adrenaline rush that made her feel lethargic so. 

“If only you could see me now, Mom and Dad,” she sighed aloud, reflecting on her choices. “Maybe you'd be proud. Or scared for me.” 

They had always been such worrisome people. Especially when it came to her. 

“Yeah. Probably just scared for me, to be honest,” she continued. Something about saying it out loud was almost like bringing it to full light. Keeping it hidden away in the recesses of her mind was like throwing a blanket over the problem. She’d never wanted to simply talk more than that moment. 

“And you, too, Daniel. I miss you so much. Playing games on your console with you when I came over to visit. I'd give my right arm to do that just one last time.” 

She talked how she would if she’d been on the phone in that instance. She remembered the conversations she’d had with all of her family, how her younger brother would always get excited when she came to visit. If her parents were being less of worry-warts, they’d let him stay the night at her apartment to hang out on the weekend. 

The longer she thought on those things, the lump in her throat grew. The tingling that would hit her nose and the stinging in her eyes. Sometimes, crying was good—but she didn’t want to cry. She would save it for later, when she was supposed to be asleep. But not when anyone could come at any time. 

It was about forty-five minutes later when she’d been half-asleep that the sound of her door opening roused her awake. 

“Come on,” a familiar voice said, taking her hand to tug her up. She removed her arm that was covering her eyes from her face and saw Vaun. “Up and at it, you’ve barely done anything.” He wouldn't be lying if he said that he wasn't wondering why she looked like she'd been on the verge of tears. It wasn't his business, though. 

She let him pull her to her feet. “Forgive me for being angry at you for that stunt you pulled earlier,” she grumbled with sarcasm, something she rarely used in earnest. He tossed her jeans on her head, which she quickly tugged on as he turned around to look at her food cabinet. Still mostly stocked. 

“Refer to what I said before. You can be mad at me all you want—it will help, if anything.” 

I don’t want to be mad at you. I hate conflict like this. That isn’t what she said, though. “If you had just warned me, I wouldn’t be.” 

“Why would I warn you? Tell me,” he prompted. “Go on. Tell me why.” 

If this had been anyone else, she probably would have refused to answer. Pride was a weird thing. But, Vaun had a way about him that completely subdued that in her. Whether it was intentional or not, she didn’t know. 

“Because... _strigoi_ don't warn you before attacking,” she said begrudgingly. It was practically painful to admit that he was right.

Vaun nodded. “Good, good. You’ve been listening.” 

“It’s kind of hard not to. You’ve made it pretty obvious.” 

“Still,” he started, “I had my doubts. You did alright for a first try."

Camden chose to ignore that last part and took initiative in leaving the chamber, almost letting the door shut in his face as he trailed her to the training room. He caught it and stopped for a second to watch her. Getting more comfortable with the place. Before, she wouldn’t dare leave without being told to—now, although a little timid, she was just a bit more assertive. Possibly she could get to the point of interacting and coexisting with the other hunters without fear, but they were…standoffish. 

So be it, he thought. She had earned her place in their nest, and any disorderly conduct would not go unpunished.   
For some reason, he found her silence bothersome. She didn’t say a word as they walked. What weighed on him more was the fact that it bothered him in the first place. It shouldn’t have, but it did. To break the silence, he said matter-of-factly, “All trainees have to do that, you know.”

“Really?” she deadpanned. It was obvious that the strigoi didn’t warn before attacking. It was the simplest concept, did it truly need to be exercised? 

“Yes, really. It's a test.” 

“You could have fooled me,” she snorted, passing behind him as they came upon the training room. She was glad that she didn’t need to have any kind of protective clothing during regular training; there was no risk of being stung. It was that Ancients had consistent control over the other hunters in which she could have been grateful for. 

Vaun only let out a low, rattling hum as he approached Lar, who was leaning against the wall. She noticed that he looked pretty thoughtful, and that Vaun was interrupting him. He didn’t get huffy when Vaun put a hand on his shoulder and shook lightly. Their version of a greeting. Lar reciprocated, “Back so soon?” he asked curiously. 

“I’m leaving you to it for the afternoon. Show her how to spar _properly_ , this time.” 

Camden was feeling awfully conflicted. She couldn’t figure out if she was still angry with him or not—and so she was mostly fine with him leaving. It was like she had not much reason to be, but it still nagged her. She wanted to think on it. Vaun left, as he said he would, leaving her to deal with the sometimes-overzealous Lar. 

“Well, then,” Lar stated readily just as the doors shut behind Vaun. “Let’s get to it.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

“Wider stance,” Lar reprimanded, manually shifting her position. In actuality, Camden was not a fan of the contact, but took it anyway as she slid her foot out slightly. “A bit lower.” 

“It's _never_ perfect,” Camden grunted, trying to get past feeling oddly silly. He suddenly stepped back, and when she left position to turn around and see, he swept her feet right out from underneath her. She came down on her hip, striking the bone painfully. She hissed in pain and felt of the area with her hand. It was already sore, and would no doubt have a big bruise later. 

“That’s why. Come on, get up,” he said as he took her hand, pulling her up onto her feet. 

“You know, if I hadn't had it coming, I ought to hit you upside the head,” Camden partially jested. 

“But, you _did_ have it coming.”

She couldn't help but chuckle under her breath, which he heard himself clear as day. They continued their basic training on defense techniques. He wouldn’t bother with offense until she had defense down completely—you need a strong base before you can advance. He took note that she was a quick learner, but that didn’t necessarily mean that she was very good. All in all, he judged that she did have drive, in any case; despite her laid-back demeanor, she was not lazy.

He came at her quickly one last time, beckoning for a dodge. It was easy to tell that she was low on energy at that point. She still evaded it with what little dexterity she had left, silently cursing the _strigoi's_ stamina. It had been four hours since they’d started and Lar seemed as though he could have barely broken a sweat, if _strigoi_ _did_ sweat. She was thoroughly worn out. 

“Getting tired?” he asked, inwardly laughing at her sluggishness on the last go around. 

“Absolutely,” she breathed out, tipping the quarter-full jug of water. Almost spilling it all over herself, she cared little of how clumsy she must have looked while chugging it.

“I suppose I should be glad that I don’t need any of that,” he rambled mindlessly as he watched her finish off the rest of it. “You humans require so many things just to stay healthy."

“Well,” she responded and set the jug down, swiping back some of her unruly hairs, “that’s the blight of natural life, I guess. Animals are like that, too." She messed with her hair, and noticed how he seemed distant while he thought. Did he recall being the same as her at one point? Needing things like water and “meaningless” vitamins and minerals? They got everything they needed all from one thing: blood. While strikingly efficient in some ways, it was also just so…wasteful. 

He left his train of thought and looked over at her, “Are you implying that our existence is not natural?” 

She would have made a liar out of herself if she said that his question didn’t make her feel a little guilty. No, that was not how she intended it to sound. Hopeful to salvage the situation, she chimed in with, “I just meant, like…all the other creatures. You guys are kind of an anomaly. Still technically 'natural', I guess; you're biological beings just like the rest of us.” 

“We are,” he said agreeably. “There is nothing out there truly like us.” 

She questioned to herself about whether he proud of this fact or if it was merely a truth, no feelings attached. “I think you might be right about that,” she concurred, him at her side as she left the training room. Her hip, tender and achy, bothered her with every step. Lar was going to take his turn and leave her to go back to her chamber before he stopped mid-step, looking at her awkward gait. 

“For what it is worth, sorry about your hip,” he said, still turned around. She was going to tell him that it was alright, but, he was quick to continue on his way, hands tucked into the pockets of his greatcoat. 

She grew curious of the rest of the compound as she was left standing in the quiet, still hall. All lighting within the place was low, much more than she was used to. It casted a lonely, vacant feeling when she was by herself. Admittedly creepy, too—not once, but twice had she found one of the silent hunters watching her from somewhere. By the corner, or from a cracked door. Sat in a shadow, where she could barely see. In those moments they looked knowing, like they were watching with intent. They were not on the level of the feral _strigoi_ , which sometimes looked to be absent, despite being wide awake. They were granted some leeway by the Ancients, but even then, when she caught them watching? She could have sworn them to be much more lucid than they normally were. 

As she arrived at her chamber and put her hand on the handle, she stopped. Not until that moment had she considered what was on her mind. Her family, all alone out there. Probably scared to death for their daughter, not to mention for themselves. The thought made her want to flee right that instant, to go and find them. She didn’t know how she would; it was a big city. An even bigger countryside in upstate New York. The task was monumentally daunting. 

She rested her head against the doorframe in exasperation, lightly bumping it with her forehead. Would Vaun or the Ancients themselves allow such a mission? It was not in their best interests. Their business was elsewhere, not with the family of an ally. 

“Are you giving up already?” Vaun's disapproving voice rang from right next to her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. She swiveled to face him, cringing on account of her hip. From so close she could see the fine lines of his face, and the gloss of his eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked in confusion. 

“Ah,” he breathed out. “That's not it, I see.” 

Was he talking about the training? Her problems had nothing to do with that—any issue she took with it was dwarfed by the fact that she had no contact with her family, and possibly would not be able to find them. She said, “It’s not the training. I can deal with that. It's just…” 

He let out a soft rattle, as if urging her to continue. 

“…My family,” she sighed deeply, “out there with no way to contact me.” 

They might still contact her, thought Vaun. Just not in the way she would hope for. She probably would have been better off not seeing anything of them; for the chance of them being out there unharmed was slim. And if they were unharmed, likely not for long. Things grew more serious by the day. 

“I realize that you probably won’t take this well, but I have to say it: you will be less disappointed with no expectations.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means 'don't get your hopes up',” he said, keeping his voice down. He wasn't trying to rub her the wrong way, but every option seemed to do just that. He only wanted to make it clear to her that frivolous optimism, or rather, naivety, would only hurt in the long run. 

“I'm not,” she nipped back. “I’m just worried about them.” 

“I understand.” 

“If you don't mind, I kind of want to be alone right now,” she said, already going into her chamber. She knew it wouldn’t have been fair to take her frustrations out on Vaun—this time, it really had nothing to do with him. The previous Sun Hunters probably faced the same dilemma and had to deal with it themselves, too. She just couldn’t get Daniel out of her mind. He was only thirteen. So young to have been going through this, and without his older sister, to boot. Even though she was aware that it was illogical, she felt partial responsibility for whatever may have happened to him in her absence. 

Vaun was strangely moved by how solemn she looked. How there was an obvious attempt at hiding it, but, humans were very expressive. Most of the time, they made it clear how they were feeling just by look alone. 

He wasn’t sure whether she fully processed that a turned loved one would come searching for her, and so could possibly compromise their position. They were best released before they saw anything of her, lest the hunters themselves. He would have to keep a lookout for them, he thought; otherwise, that would be an easy shortcut for Eichhorst or the Master. All they would need to do is find some of her belongings with her scent and get the Feelers on her trail. 

He concluded that the chance had to be eliminated. That apartment building was infected anyhow. She would not miss those lost souls in there. 

They wouldn’t do this in the daylight, because the humans would have been out. It needed to be done quickly and without notice. He spent the rest of the day resting on and off, only getting up to inform the Ancients what his plan was. They accepted, as he thought, and just after sundown, he found his two hunter companions. The most experienced ones. As he was outfitting his gun near the exit to the compound, he was approached by Quinlan. He hadn’t seen the hybrid’s face in an entire day. 

“Where are you going?” he questioned. 

Vaun finished adjusting his gun and coat before answering, “To take care of the rest of Camden's belongings. I don't want anything left to be used by the Feelers in the future.” 

“If you were so concerned about that, you should have done it to begin with.” 

Blast his carelessness, Quinlan was right. Neither the Master nor Eichhorst knew of Camden's presence, though. There was still time. 

“Take some gasoline along with you. You'll want it,” said Quinlan. 

“I think we should leave that for the vehicles,” Vaun suggested as if Quinlan was daft. “The carpet should catch all the same.” 

“We can send someone to siphon more. For now, just make sure all of the items get burnt.”

Vaun left with the hunters and found their stash of gasoline hidden near where they parked the cars. All he really needed was one; it was mainly any clothes and bedding that had to be destroyed. 

So, with night having fallen, they snuck out in their smaller car, setting outward to her apartment building. The night was still alive with a few humans hurrying back to their holdings, and the cats and dogs of the streets scavenging for food. Otherwise, it was far less busy than what he’d seen of the safe zone—this place was on its way to becoming no man's land. 

With Vaun's sharp memory, they found their way back to the little janky apartment building. All three hunters caught the heavy scent of ammonia right upon getting out of the car. This building was totally infected. 

“Let's be in and out of here,” he told his hunters, pressing toward the back entrance. Vaun made one of them carry the gasoline so his hands would be free, just in case. 

The main hallway was clear. Only the corpse of the previous strigoi they’d killed there was still laying on the floor. He stepped over it, making sure to listen for scratching, footsteps. The nest would be out hunting at this time, but precautions were always necessary. They located her apartment door, which was still closed, and pushed in. It looked untouched. There was no surprise that it hadn’t been looted yet; the fact that the feral were creating a nest here would have drove anyone off. 

No one was in this building anymore. Theoretically, he could have just lit up the entire apartment. Perhaps the building would follow with it. While not necessary, it had been the much easier option, instead of manually gathering up all of the stuff and setting fire to it outside. 

Definitely easier. 

Being back in her apartment made him remember how she mentioned how warm the compound was with her heavy clothing. He could just grab some stuff of hers and bring it back with him—it wasn't a big deal. 

“Hold off,” he ordered the hunters, venturing into her bedroom. Despite her not having been there for a while, he could still detect some of her scent in the place. Just a few items. Finding a miscellaneous plastic bag halfway tucked under her bed, he opened up her closet doors. The assortment reminded him that he wasn't actually sure what to take. He sat there annoyed for about a minute before finding a couple of random oversized T-shirts, shoving them into the bag. He also looked in her dresser and spotted a pair of loose shorts. That would do it. 

On his way out, a string of photos clipped onto it caught his eye. They were resting over her nightstand, pictures of presumably her family. The little pet she kept. He tugged one of them off the line and looked closer at it. It was Camden and a younger boy. And although his face didn't show it, seeing her in a time when everything was okay interested him. He wondered who she was before this, or if the pandemic had changed her all that much. The boy in the picture, brown-headed like her must have been a sibling. 

The rest of the photos showed the rest of the family, including presumably grandparents, friends. One in particular had a photo of another woman standing over a counter in the very spot he'd first seen Camden at, through the window from that one rooftop. Fate really did bring him here. There was a heart sloppily drawn on the corner of the photo of the woman. Just who was she?

He didn't want to stick around too long— hesitantly, he swiped the photo of her and the boy and set it on top of the clothes in the bag. It was unlike him to do this; he didn't even know why he was. 

Done, he told the hunters to just pour the gasoline all over the place. They complied without question. Floor, lounge, and bedroom all got a good douse. 

“Alright, let's get out of here.” 

The aforementioned hunter carrying the gasoline can made a trail out of the broken window and into the alleyway, allowing them to light it without getting too close. Vaun had the hunters stand back and look away so the brightness wouldn’t hurt their eyes, while he simply cringed away. He dug a match out of his pocket and struck it, already moving away as he tossed it onto the trail. He didn’t watch things light up in there; it was time to leave. The thought of causing a huge fire crossed his mind while they drove off, but, he reckoned that what was left of the authorities and fire department would take care of it if it got that bad. 

In a sense, the clothes were a kind of peace offering. And when they got back, he went to Camden's chamber to find her dead-asleep on her pallet. The slow heartbeats and deeper breaths, he could hear it all. Feeling movement in his throat, he simply dropped the bag by the door and left. He had no justification for that photo, truly—the clothes, he did. But whatever possessed him to take the photo was not intent on showing itself. With that task out of the way, at any rate, he felt he could rest easier knowing that there were no leads to find in that apartment.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

The flames that once rose from the height of the building had now been doused by the fire department. It was hard, it took a couple of hours to finally stop it. No one knew what had even caused this. People, trying to exterminate a nest? Possibly. Or perhaps an accident. Faulty wiring, a mishap while cooking. It didn’t matter, at that point—any and all inside it were burnt to ashes, leaving only sparse remnants of proof of the tenants who used to live there. There was no matter. The feral did not and would never care about those material things, that which used to hold sentiment to those who owned them. 

Deep down, he was pleased with himself for taking the photo. The act could have been callous, he supposed, setting fire to the apartment…he didn’t tell Camden that was what he did. He battled with himself on whether he would tell the truth, or if he’d just stretch it a bit to avoid the conflict. If this had been anyone else, he would have been fine with telling them, “Yes, I burned down your former home,” but he inwardly winced at the idea of informing Camden. He wasn’t sure what other kind of precious (to her) items she had kept there. They were gone, now.

Surely it would not make a difference if she knew or not. It was simply protocol of sorts.   
So, when she asked about the picture and the clothes the next morning, he kept a straight face and told her that a fire had broken out after they’d left. The fact that she so readily believed him without an ounce of skepticism made him feel a sharp pang of guilt; he was practicing deceit by omission, just as bad as a lie in of itself. But he’d dug himself that deep already, so he went along with it, hoping to forget about it soon. It was instant regret, though, as he wasn’t sure if Quinlan would even cooperate with that story. 

“Thanks, Vaun. A lot. And I mean it,” Camden said appreciatively, slipping on the one of the shirts. A plain thing, dark blue and looked to be much too big for her. 

“It wasn't a problem.” 

As she inspected the photo, he found her tracing along the boy it with her thumb. There was the hint of a smile on her face, like she was recounting something sweet. It made him more curious as to who it was. 

He stood behind her and looked over her shoulder, studying her face and the picture alike. “Who is that?” he asked. There was an inkling that it was a sibling in that photo, but he couldn’t be sure. This was the one where she looked the brightest and in one of the most pure states of happiness.

“Oh,” she muttered, putting the photo to her chest. “It’s my younger brother, Daniel.” 

On the inside, she was a little disappointed that he hadn’t just grabbed the entire string of photos. Most were just insignificant things, like a blurry picture of her cat, or a bad picture of her that someone snapped while she was caught off guard. The ones that hurt the most were photos of her past partner and her grandparents, as she knew there would be no getting those back. But, for then, she was happy all the same that he’d thought about her. He’d been kind of cold for the last couple of days, from her perspective, and she couldn’t figure out why, so the act of generosity felt like a step back in the right direction. 

“What were you doing there, anyway?” she asked, genuinely curious. 

The question made Vaun feel like he he’d been caught with his pants down—figuratively, of course. If he were one to panic, he might have tripped over his words in telling her that they were simply scouting a new nest that was forming. Coincidentally near her apartment building. But he kept himself in check, and as he'd suspected, she had no qualms with that answer. 

“I see,” she replied. He almost flinched when she suddenly turned around and briefly wrapped her arms around him, giving a light hug. It had been completely uncalled for, foreign—he knew she should have stepped away, though, he didn’t. He let her hug him for the little time that she did before she started to feel awkward, pulling away. He didn’t know how to react. Just stood there in partial shock, while she vacated his personal space and went about putting away her stuff. 

Vaun wracked his brain to find an excuse to leave right away. He said finally, “Eat and be ready to train in twenty minutes.”   
He sped out of the hallway and took the first turn he found so he wouldn’t feel Camden’s eyes on him anymore, because he knew she was watching him. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling—anxiousness? It had been a long time since he’d felt honest-to-God anxious. But here he was. 

Camden stood there utterly confused as she watched him leave, still clutching the photo. What had gotten into him? 

She slunk back into her chamber and started thinking about the hug. He went so still and rigid when she touched him, she could have mistaken him for a statue in that moment. She felt her face get a little warm at the thought; she was embarrassed. Maybe it had been inappropriate, hugging him like that. She considered them friends, but perhaps not close enough. The gesture came so naturally to her that she almost felt a bit guilty for catching him off guard. Sometimes, she forgot that he was not a human like her, and that he might have had different boundaries. Even despite his appearance. He had that much character. 

Never mind that, though; she had to hurry and eat. Lar had gotten onto her for being even just a couple of minutes late to the training room, as he always got there early to wait. She didn’t know if she was actually late or if he was pulling her leg just for the sake of doing it—there were no clocks around. 

She saw that her food supply was running low when she opened up her cabinet, and so came to the verdict that she would have to do another run for food soon. 

After eating (canned corn and tinned fish yet again), she changed out of the baggy T-shirt into her more fitted one, but kept the shorts on. She wanted to give no reason to Lar to stickle her on her for her clothes, which could be easily grabbed if too loose. Venturing out into the compound was becoming more natural to her. She didn’t pay much attention to any stalking hunters she encountered, as they generally were passive and left her alone. Though, one did get a little too close for comfort as she rounded a corner, nearly smacking into his chest. He stopped and allowed her to pass by. Only he did not continue on his way and instead turned to follow her, which made her feel like a little prey knowing the hunter was just behind her. Nothing happened; he simply followed behind by a good ten feet for a while before presumably getting bored, eventually leaving as she approached the training room. Admittedly, it made her shudder knowing that she couldn’t have really run without him closing the gap quicker than she could gain distance. They were fast.

On entering the training room, Lar was there as usual. “On time, I see,” he said from across the room. He closed the gap and took note that she seemed a little meatier than she had been before. “You’re looking…healthier.” 

“Can you tell?” she asked, surprised that anyone noticed. She’d felt a lot better after getting consistent meals and actually exercising, even with how tired she was afterward. It was nice to do the body a serviced. 

“Yes, I can. Now–“ He went to throw jab to her gut, making sure not to use all of his strength, but she redirected the attempt away and stiff-armed him back, staggering her stance to gain her balance. She still had her forearm against his sternum, dangerously close to his wattle, which made him feel a tiny spark of the nerve. It was such a sensitive area. 

He let his arms fall and then backed off. He was satisfied with the amateur having learned how to stave off certain assaults, and with more refining, he judged that she’d be ready to move on within a month. She was still comparably weak in the upper body, which he’d be fixing. 

“You have that one down,” he told her confidently. “But,” He grabbed her arm and jostled it, making her feel kind of self-conscious, “this isn't going to do.” 

She tugged her arm away, annoyed. “Yeah, I know, I'm skinny.” 

“Alright, then, on the floor.” 

“What?” 

“Ten push-ups,” he said, giving her a look as if to say, “stupid question.” 

“Wait until I bust my chin on his hard concrete,” she grumbled as she assumed the plank position. Out of all the muscles in her body, her core was probably the strongest one. That wasn't the issue. 

“You won't collapse; I will be right here.”

After about four her shoulders and chest were already burning like crazy, and she was still embarrassed to admit that she honestly could not do many more. Lar stayed crouched right at her side, pointing it out every time she broke proper form. 

“Shit, I can't do anymore,” she groaned in a strain. It was then that her arms legitimately did collapse, as she’d expected, and he caught her head and torso so she wouldn’t come down so hard. 

“You got to seven,” he stated plainly. She didn't tell him, but, she was mighty ashamed of just how weak she’d gotten. “Not so good. I think you could have pushed it further.” 

She gave him a deadpan look. “Seven is good, _for now._ ” 

They carried on with more basics, and at some point, Vaun had popped in to see how it was going. He didn’t let Camden see him, though—he halfway his behind the door and only looked in here and there. She seemed to be getting along fine with Lar. That was good, he reasoned; only, it would have been better if it were him there instead. 

He wanted to kick himself for thinking such things. It was ridiculous to him, truly. 

This time, though, instead of leaving as he normally would, he stayed on standby, listening and watching closely. He couldn’t always tell why she'd laugh at some things, or why she got on with Lar so well. He thought that she would have been standoffish about him based on his previous behavior, but lo and behold, both sounded to be actually enjoying the time. 

“I suppose she is coming along,” Quinlan said abruptly, causing Vaun to nearly let out a startled hiss. He was too good at sneaking up on Vaun. It didn’t help that he was uncharacteristically distracted. 

“And where have _you_ been?” Vaun snapped. 

“Out,” Quinlan started, “trying to recruit. It turns out that the number of worthy humans has indeed dwindled.” 

“I told you,” said Vaun, turning his attention away from the door. He let it fall shut. 

“I thought you just hadn’t been looking enough, but, we ended up with that one in there. So, I guess you were telling the truth.” 

Vaun's feathers were ruffled at the comment, when had Quinlan started doubting his judgement? He’d practically brought Vaun up. As much as that part bugged him, he was more bothered by the fact that Quinlan had seemed to grow more and more distant from him over time. Leaving back for Europe hadn't helped, either; Vaun even felt somewhat betrayed with how Quinlan had blocked him and everyone else. 

Vaun shifted slightly under Quinlan's gaze, cursing how transparent he felt in front of him. 

“I warned you, Vaun,” he said enigmatically after a minute. It took Vaun a second to figure out just what he’d meant—he then had a vague idea. And it was something he did not want to talk about. He ended with, “You cannot say I didn’t try. Do yourself a favor, and don't be weak."

“I don't appreciate this ambiguity,” Vaun replied bluntly. “I’m supervising. Making sure Lar isn't getting carried away."

“And I don't suppose that you’d rather it be you in there.” 

“I don't. If I had, I _would_ be,” Vaun growled. 

“I won't argue with you about this. If you would like to keep the fact that you torched her apartment and all of her belongings a secret, I would suggest that you let Lar handle it. He does not need you hovering over his shoulder.” 

Vaun was going to find something to argue back with, but, he decided that it was enough—he let Quinlan leave without anything to say for himself, and after one last time of peering into the training room, pried himself away. He felt useless and anxious when he had nothing to do. No orders, no tasks. He had to do something with his hands. 

He headed back to his chamber and took one of his weapons out of the container, getting out the necessary items to clean it. Not only was it time for maintenance, but he also felt like using them. If he got the clear, he would take his hunters out for a patrol on the outskirts of the Ancient's sphere of influence that night. 

An hour passed by, and he stopped what he was doing all together when he heard the telltale sound of Camden on her way back to her chamber. The slight drag of her tired feet, how she’d clear her throat now and again. He felt especially tuned in to her existence at every moment she was around, which was incredibly strange to him, as this was the kind of special attention that only his hunters would receive. Fellow _strigoi_ , nothing reserved for humans. But she’d slipped through the crack, somehow. She would never train her own ear to his little tics as he had hers, he thought. 

Still feeling antsy, he put away his gun and supplies and went back out into the compound. His chamber was too chilly for his liking—he got the urge to go be around the nest. It was the social aspect of him, same across the board for all _strigoi_ , blessed by the Ancients or not. The hunters were so imposing Camden and all the humans that had come before her, but he could not see anything but their docility, and how attached they were to him as a head figure of sorts. Although, upon command or urgency, even the most tame _strigoi_ could switch to their more primal state. Perhaps that’s what the humans had always been afraid of. 

Vaun, he spent some time simply in the rest of the hunters' presences, all enjoying the heat of the room as their body temperatures warmed the atmosphere. It brought him a familial kind of comfort to be surrounded by familiar sounds, such as the occasional rattles and clicks. 

Every time he was near Camden, he felt exposed. She was such unknown territory for him that just interacting with her made him odd. He’d never expected her to have hugged him as she did, so out of the blue. He'd nearly recoiled from her touch, even though part of him wanted to make that territory less uncomfortable. 

She was just so unpredictable. 

Being in such close quarters within the compound with her suddenly made everything feel a lot smaller, like he had nowhere to go without having to face her at some point. It was childish, he thought. Ludicrous. In all his years walking the Earth, he hadn’t been known as one who hadn’t his mind concluded at all times. But, after all that time, he had never felt so indecisive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oOooOooOo internal conflict, the torture. Heheheh. A bit more of a laid back chapter, ya get some more of Lar and Vaun is becoming neurotic. Just another day. Getting into the thicc of things next chapter B^)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Sirens had always been one of the most grating noises. The high pitched wail, accompanied by the honks of fire trucks. It was raucous, and Eichhorst found himself irrationally annoyed by the sound. They had plagued almost every day and night since the outbreak had began; the one drawback of it all. 

The racket had been irritating him for the last day from Headquarters. Despite his thinning patience, he was most pleased to have finally had the Feelers in order. All it would take was one of the girl's items, a shirt or frequented blanket, to rouse them. They were so useful. And after their background check, he had her address and everything—it was all in the files, which Grimes had a copy of. Though he would go with a few of his henchmen, should he have encountered any of the unsavory kind. 

“This address,” he said simply, handing the fold of paper to the driver. 

“I can't take you any farther than here,” the man explained. He pointed at an area in the Bronx, tracing an outline of the pseudo-barrier in between the safe zone and the outside. Militia was concentrated around those parts. “They won't let regular people through, you know.” 

“They will let you pass,” said Eichhorst, “don’t concern yourself with that. For now, just drive.” 

“Alright, then.”

The driver, one of Eldritch's trusted, had to keep from looking too uncomfortable as the German and his two _strigoi_ companions entered the backseat. The man took the passenger seat next to him while the rest stayed in the back, and it made the lone human supremely nervous to be within such close range of them. He had known of their existence, but it did not change how otherworldly it was. 

“So, the Bronx,” the driver tried to strike up conversation, hoping to drown the rattles and clicks of the strigoi behind him. “What kind of business would a man like yourself have over there?” 

He wasn’t aware that he was close to stepping on Eichhorst's toes by asking. “It is not your concern, yet again,” he replied. Eichhorst was scant to say much more on it. Eyes on the driver, he watched his body language—excessive lip-licking, the way his eyes would dart to the mirror to check on the backseat. Weakness.

“That’s fine,” the driver said. “I’ll just hush up.” 

“Excellent idea,” Eichhorst chimed. 

Silence replaced the useless chatter permanently this time, and after a while, they eventually made it to the border, where the militia stood guarding the blockades. Hurriedly made barriers to keep both people and creature from going through or scaling them without making big racket, so that the men may pop them with their guns before they got too far. 

There was a set-up booth at the exit, which happened to be one of the only entrances on this side of the city as well. The driver slowed the car and rolled down the window for the operator. 

“State your business,” he ordered, eyeing the two in the front seat. He hadn’t seen the _strigoi_ in the very back row yet, who were keeping a low profile back there. The windows were tinted quite dark. 

The driver had no idea what to say, and so he let Eichhorst handle the conversation. He pulled out an ID and reached over the driver to give it to the operator, along with a piece of paper. A formal request made by Eldritch himself. The man snatched both of them and looked them over. 

“Thomas Eichhorst,” he read aloud clearly. “You’re quite the name. Sent by Palmer?” 

“Indeed, I was.” 

He spent a few seconds more reading before saying, “And why exactly should I let you through?”

The driver had already felt unnerved enough, but the absent grin on Eichhorst's face really sealed the deal. “I think you're forgetting who is funding this operation.” 

The operator looked slightly taken aback, but, he was right; this was all thanks to Eldritch Palmer's generosity. When Eichhorst had pitched the idea to Palmer about Grime's desire to build these barriers, the old man was shocked. That usual dumbfounded look on his face, one which Eichhorst found pathetic. These little efforts would not hold out long. Not Grime's puny militia, nor the supposed “safe” zones. All in due time, he thought—it would only make the true fall even sweeter. 

The operator stepped back and whispered something to one of the other guys guarding the exit, and after a hushed back-and-forth, he came back. “Fine, you can go ahead.” He signaled to the gatekeeper to give them the clear. The metal slid open with a harsh scraping sound, which Eichhorst absolutely hated. The driver crept them through until they made it past the barriers and then picked up to a steadier pace, following the SUV's GPS to the address. The state of this area was shocking to him; it was like night and day compared to the safe zone. There were not many working streetlights, and most of the buildings looked dead, as if no one was there anymore. That was probably the case, he thought. No one was sure of the numbers of uninfected people left in these areas, but it was clear that it was dropping by the day. They passed the occasional corpse, human and strigoi. Cats looking for easy meals.   
It was unsettling. 

“Uh...” the driver murmured as they approach their destination. The building was charred and ashen. Most totally burnt—a fire had obviously racked the place good.

“No,” Eichhorst growled, getting out of the now-stopped car. There it was, clear as day; and he was furious.   
Eichhorst couldn’t contain his burst of anger. An orange cat fed on some vermin nearby, which he kicked as hard as he could. It yowled and hit the brick wall, scurrying to its feet before running off in a limp. The driver watched helplessly. He felt bad for the cat; that was so unnecessary. He cared not say anything, though. 

Had Eichhorst not made a point to be composed, he could have shaken as he stared at the burnt building in front of him. Nothing would be left. Nothing of use, even if there were. 

“Why did you want to come to this burned-up thing?” the driver asked after having stepped out. 

“It was not supposed to be destroyed.” 

The man looked at Eichhorst and saw how the little light from above had casted an eerie shadow on his brow bone, creating a dark, imposing look. The driver continuously got bad vibes from the German; all he’d wanted to do was hightail out of there. But he was under the correct impression that Eichhorst would be entitled to a ride back, so, he waited for him. Outside of the car where his _strigoi_ companions were not. 

Eichhorst seethed and seethed—they’d been just too late. In the couple of days that it had taken to acquire the Feelers, all of their possible leads had been ruined. Although not a major setback, he had been particularly excited for this. To catch them so off-guard.   
Oh well, he thought, done with the sight. There were other means by which they could do this. Just slightly less conventional. 

“We are done here,” he snarled. The driver hurried back to the car and started it up as Eichhorst piled in, slamming the door shut. 

“Take us back. And you are _not_ to speak a word of this.” 

The driver stammered a response, “I didn't see anything. We never met.” 

Eichhorst simply nodded and looked forward, already thinking about the next move. He would not participate in the next meeting with Grimes and the girl; he wouldn’t be foolish enough to test the waters in that fashion. But, he had no worries. Behind all of Grime's actions was Eichhorst. Both knew this—just one happened to be holding the cards that were ever so in his favor. 

And on the way back, as the _strigoi_ crawled out of hiding and the night lit up with the sound gunfire, he could not have felt more alive despite this setback. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought about making this one longer, but, I don't think anything else really needed to be said on this.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Her ears were ringing. A pounding headache, along with a hard lump on the side of her skull. She couldn’t focus on any one thing—not Quinlan, and not the firefight she was laying amidst. Where was he? She couldn’t see him. The hearing in her right ear was deafened to a muffle. Her right thigh was burning in one spot. She tried to call out, but all that came from her was a weak ramble. She was about to roll over onto her back when a set of strong hands latched onto her shoulders, dragging her back. 

It was all so disorienting.

“Get her to the car,” said an unfamiliar voice. 

She looked up. A cloth was slapped over her eyes to keep her from looking into the sun, all the while she was still being dragged. Her shirt hiked up and grated against the pavement, scraping the skin off of her back. She tried to kick and thrash as she was hauled up and into the backseat of a vehicle. More gunshots rang out. With her good ear, she listened; pistols, and then semi-automatics. She heard the clash of metal against something, followed by a scream, right before car door slammed shut. 

“Put some pressure on that,” someone said. She couldn’t help herself as another bound her hands together with zip-ties behind her. A burning in her upper thigh increased steadily until the pain of it had become almost unbearable, all the while something was being pressed on the spot. The plastic on her wrists dug in with every tug. 

Blind, half-deaf, and scared, all she could do was near hyperventilate. She shifted as the car began to roll forward, the gunshots growing distant. 

“How’s it looking?” someone asked from the front seat. The car suddenly jerked, and the person above her almost toppled over. 

“An in-and-out,” the person inspecting the wound responded, “I don’t think it hit anything vital. But we need to get her out of here.” 

"On it."

She fidgeted and violently squirmed at his touch. Every accidental brush of the wound sent burning pain shooting down her leg. She could barely even move it—was it fractured? 

She was about to kick the person over her in the gut when the blindfold was pulled off, revealing a man with disheveled brown hair and a strangely kind face. He looked like someone she’d seen before. The thought of head-butting him briefly crossed her mind—she didn't act on it. 

“Who are you?!” she gasped, trying to sit up. He placed a hand on her chest and gently.

“You don't want to move too much with that,” he said, continuing to apply pressure to her leg. She moaned in pain at the movement and fell back down, thickly swallowing. Liquor could be smelled on his breath, which made her feel about as sick as the motion of the car. It bounced with every pothole and every piece of debris the careless driver hit.

“I was shot?” she asked, mind dizzying. Jazzy music started to play in the speaker next to her head, and she winced at the intrusive noise. 

“Stray bullet,” he replied. “It’s not lodged, though. You'll be okay.” Struggling even more than before, he was forced to hold her down by the shoulders, releasing the pressure on her wound. He stammered as she thrashed, “Hey, stop—stop. You don't want to piss these guys off.” He'd lowered his voice, which was almost drowned out by the infernal music.

“Get off me,” she snarled. 

“Listen to me, Mathers,” he whispered into her good ear, eyes darting between her and the driver. “These people are cruel. You have to stop struggling.” 

“You…” she mumbled in exhaustion, trying—and failing—to articulate herself. “Doctor Goodweather?” 

He reluctantly nodded and pulled away. She fell quiet. Her head, it was hurting badly. Blood matted into her hair. Even with the spirited music playing into her ear, she couldn’t stave off the tiredness. She felt so tired—her body was sore, ranging from nasty road rash, to bruises, to what she felt had been a subluxation in her hip. Goodweather could only watch in guilt while he went to applying pressure on her leg once again, lamenting the situation. It wasn't right. No, everything was wrong—it was never supposed to happen like that. He didn’t want to have to meet her under those conditions. He’d hoped that they would have agreed, and all would have been well. As well as it could have been. But Grimes would not take no for an answer. 

He hated working for them. For her. 

Seeing that the bleeding on her leg had started to ease up, he removed the wet cloth to get a bandage. The music was horribly inappropriate for the situation. It was callous, to him, for something so jovial to be played at a time like that. 

"Could you turn that shit down?” Goodweather barked, rummaging through the first-aid for the bandages. 

The driver smirked at him through the mirror, “Nope.” 

He cranked the volume.

* * *

Vaun stood attentively before the Ancients, awaiting their response. It was the day before their next, and presumably last meeting with Grimes. He had to consult them before they came to any kind of conclusion. His opinion mattered not in the face of such a decision; their word was final. 

They twitched and rattled in their stands, formulating their collective decision. It was not in their interest to play along with foolish attempts for a cure to their disease, despite that Grimes' alliance could aid their cause. There were plenty of other suppliers among the city which they would not be in such hot water with. It was risky, aligning with Grimes. So, they told Vaun their verdict: it was not to go through. Their speaker would tell the woman that the deal was off. Vaun doubted that she would back off without resistance. He felt that he knew her type well, and that this meeting was bound to go awry. It made him uneasy how Camden would be caught in the crossfire, should it have. 

He didn’t want to go unarmed like last time.

The Ancients hadn’t dismissed him yet. There was something else; and it didn’t make him happy to hear it. They didn’t want him going along to the meeting, they wanted him to stay behind and try to recruit out in the city. Away from all of the action, and more importantly…Camden. 

He didn’t need to ask who would be going with her, he already knew. Quinlan. And while Quinlan was capable of holding his own and Camden's, it was such a vulnerable situation. Three of the other hunters would be going as well, the Ancients informed him—he did not have to worry. It still did not make him feel any more secure. Camden was unknowingly treading on thin ice. Or, he thought she wasn’t aware. She could have been. It didn’t matter all too much, in any case. It was thin ice all the same. 

They told him that he was also to search for Augustin Elizalde. They’d let him get away once; not this time. Vaun obliged, though they knew how skeptical he was. New York was a big city. How was he supposed to find one person among so many people? 

On done, they dismissed him, and he left feeling more than unsatisfied. It was frustrating, being stuck under their thumb. As much as Vaun revered them in a way, at times, their control on conduct was his Achilles heel. He never disobeyed him, ever. Neither the rest of the hunters, save for Quinlan, who was the one exception. They would know if he’d gone against their instructions. There had to have been some kind of loophole for him to exploit, and perhaps, he could tread thin ice in the face of authority just as Camden would. Oh, the parallels. 

It was being just a little bit closer to her, in a roundabout way, he thought—but when had he started wanting that?   
He had to stop for a moment. Reevaluate himself, what he was doing. What was he doing? He’d always known himself; it had never been a question. Not until then, when he’d slowed down and really thought about it. Six-hundred years of existence, and that had been one of the very few times he’d honestly questioned himself.

This time, though…it didn’t feel bad. The instances prior that this thought had cropped up, he'd stomped on it right away, and then shoved it into the back of his mind where he'd deemed it belonged. Rinse and repeat, building up to that mundane moment when he could finally find the bravery to admit it. 

He'd grown attached to Camden. How much so? A lot, he guessed, judging by how this situation made him anxious so. He wondered if she had caught on, or if he’d lied to himself and hidden it well. It was a slight hope of his that she hadn’t figured it out, at least not yet. He wasn’t ready to confront that one. 

Camden had been waiting around the corner for him to be finished, so when she heard his footsteps, she jogged up to him. “That was longer than I’d expected,” she said, taking to his side. He didn’t move a or retract when her shoulder brushed against his arm, instead let it be. It didn’t change the fact that he was still severely displeased. He didn’t say anything, as it was only an observation on her part, and kept walking. Seeing out of the corner of his eye that she was looking at him, he looked at her, too. 

“Why so quiet?” she asked. 

He stopped them and sighed, “I’m not supposed to go with you tomorrow.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she tilted her head slightly. A common gesture of hers, he’d noticed. “Why?” 

“They want me to recruit out in the city. And to find Augustin Elizalde, as well—they’ve requested him.” He knew she didn't know very much about him as he hadn’t mentioned him much, so he explained to her what he did. Transporting the coffin over the river, possibly rapturing humanity for some quick money. 

She looked unbelieving at how something like that could have snowballed into what it had become. The Butterfly Effect? Possibly. Or it had been part of fate all along, who could have known? She wouldn't waste time pondering on that; it didn’t matter, at that point. “I almost can’t believe he’s basically the one who brought all of this on. And you want him, why?”

“He’s proven himself worthy so far. And you can't completely blame him; he was tricked. Weak-minded, but strong-willed.” 

She shook her head, folding her arms loosely. “Just don't expect me to be welcoming to him, because I don't associate with people who potentially damn an entire race.” 

He smiled just a little at that, which he didn't fight, this time. She would have never told him this, but, he looked almost impish when he smiled—the eyes and the ears sold it for her. It was rare to see him with any expression beside his usual neutrality. She wished he'd do it more often, secretly. And so, she couldn’t help but grin at that. It was welcomed surprise. 

He'd been tempted to tell her again that it was not just his fault, but held his tongue. It was like water off a duck's back to him if she didn't like Gus too much. 

“Vaun,” she addressed him. 

“Yes?” 

“Be careful out there, please.” 

She didn't need to tell him that. Nor be concerned about him—that was his job. He didn't want her to worry about him; he didn't need that. Instead to focus on herself. He’d gone out into the city many times, and always came back relatively unscathed. Perhaps a couple of skirmishes here and there with the infected, or the few humans that had spotted him by accident. He was experienced.   
“You do not need to worry yourself about me,” he responded. “’l’ll be fine.” 

Dare he say it, it was a kind gesture for someone to think of him like that. Unnecessary, but kind all the same. 

“Okay, but,” she added, “just don't get hurt or anything. Seriously.” 

“I won’t,” he promised. He told her to trust him to wrap it up, and she hesitantly agreed. He had a hunch that she was going to worry regardless of what he said to reason with her, but, that was fine, he supposed. It wouldn’t hurt. 

“Wait,” she halted, putting a hand on his shoulder. He gave her a puzzled look. “Does that mean it's just Quinlan going?” 

Yes, obviously—and three more hunters on standby, in case things got dicey. “He will be, yes. Don't like him?” 

“Eh…” she trailed off. She tried to find a way to say it without being so rude, but that was proving difficult. “He’s a bit…standoffish. To be fair, I don't think he particularly likes me, either.” 

“You might be correct about that,” he commented. Truth be told, even he wasn't totally sure about Quinlan's stance on her. “I wouldn't lose any sleep over it, though. His opinion of you does not really matter.” 

Vaun didn’t quite understand her desire to be liked; some people just rub the wrong way with others. And Quinlan was not exactly easy to get along with at all times. 

“I know, it's just awkward,” she cringed. 

“Nothing wrong with that.” 

He thought she was done. She kept going, “Vaun, what if something happens at that meeting? I tell her no, and she freaks out on me or something She gives me a bad feeling.” 

Her body was composed, yet the look in her eye told him everything. He had trouble coming up with a viable answer; he didn't know about that, himself. What if something did happen, and he wasn't there? He tried to reason with himself that, although sometimes moody, Quinlan wouldn’t have actually let anything happen to her. He was sure of that part—he knew Quinlan. He'd at the very least try to prevent it. 

He put a hand on her upper arm and rubbed it gently, “Trust Quinlan, Camden. You will not be alone in there.” 

“I know I'm not going to be,” she said, resisting the selling emotion inside her. “I just hate when you're gone.” 

It was a difficult thing to quell, her newly-formed separation anxiety. After being holed up in that apartment for weeks, almost always alone, she then knew where she stood: she needed people. And right then, Vaun, the most. 

She continued before he could even respond, asking earnestly, “Why did you avoid me?” 

He lifted his hand from her shoulder and drew it back in. “I do not know.” He really didn’t; it had just felt right, at the time. In hindsight it was simply as she said it: avoidance. Running away from the real problem. 

“Don't lie to me," she croaked. 

“I can't give you a reason for everything I do.” 

“You can for this! You got cold all of a sudden,” she argued, stepping closer. She stopped for what seemed like forever, all the while he stayed utterly silent. He wouldn’t argue with her. He didn’t want to. He hated conflict with her, it was the most damning of all things.   
He let her vent everything. How Quinlan had told her that he only saved her the night they’d met due to the normal reasons; potential. Need. He still couldn’t argue against that. It was true. And above all things, Vaun was not a liar. 

He only began speaking once she had fully vented, eventually backing up to the wall behind her, hands fidgeting. “Quinlan was correct,” he said softly, extending a hand to her head, where he smoothed down some of the unruly strands of hair that had dislodged during her tirade. He felt her tense, but she didn't recoil as he’d expected. She hung her head. “That had been my intention, that night. I was doing my duties.” 

She chewed on the inside of her lips. “I was stupid. I don't know why I thought this was anything more.” 

Removing herself from the wall, she sent to walk away—and on instinct, he jammed his arm out in front of her. His palm sat firmly on the wall. She startled and turned to him, “What are you doing?” 

“I’m not letting you run away right now. Please stay still, and just listen.” She moved back with reluctance and stayed put. He felt slightly brutish for behaving like that toward her, but, he couldn’t stand being silent any longer—all of it had come to a head. 

“You aren't stupid, Camden.” 

She huffed half of a breath and refused to look at him. 

“In fact...I think you’re clever. And amusing. And, most of all,” he said, moving his head in unison to hers as she tried to keep her gaze away, “You have had your brave moments.” 

That, she was quick to respond to; she did not believe that. It stung to doubt him. “I’m not brave, Vaun.” 

“Who told you that? Yourself?” 

“No one. I haven't done much to prove you right.” 

He recounted on the supply run they had done in the city after she'd first arrived. Back then, as Quinlan, he had felt neutral toward her. No particular feelings. He had been just doing his job. And then he thought about her handling of Grimes, even with how unsavory of a kind as she was. He thought Camden was brave just to have been there with him, fearless in the face of a potential animal. 

Needless to say, her intuition had served her well; she was right. What started as duty _had_ developed into something more than it originally had been. 

D"you remember, back at that little shop? Off the alley,” he said, moving a tad closer. “When the feral had come busting out of that room.” 

She wanted to roll her eyes. She had a vague understanding of where he was going with this. 

“If you hadn't been there, I would have gotten stung.” 

“Perhaps that is true. It doesn’t invalidate your actions. Had you not braved-up and shot that feral instead of trying to run, it would have infected you. And I would have had to put you down. I may not seem like it, but…I am extremely glad that it didn't happen.” 

She tried and tried to keep from tearing up, but, it was persistent. Too persistent—a drop rolled down from the corner of her eye. “It makes me feel better knowing that you would release me if that ever happened.” 

“You will always have that assurance, no matter what. I promise,” he said, experimentally taking her hand as if asking if it was alright. And it was. He kind of played with her fingers, unsure as to what to do. He pushed himself to try anyway. It had been so long since someone had given her a caring touch. Something light, just like that. It made her heart race, and she loosely grabbed his hand in return. It was much bigger than her own, unsurprisingly; Vaun was a big guy. The skin of his palm was smooth and dry, unlike the rest, which was rough. He had callouses all over them. 

The action was otherworldly to him. Something that he’d never done before in such a context. 

“I was confused. I have never done anything of this caliber before with someone.”

Becoming more familiar to the touch, she held on a little firmer to his hand, “It's okay. I wish I hadn't been…ignorant.” 

With knowing that the whole time the reason he'd been so avoidant was because he was so inexperienced, it made her feel guilty and rotten to have been upset about it. He had been battling with himself while she’d only made it worse. 

He gently released her hand and stepped away to give the both of them some space. He was still so new to the concept that prolonged contact like that made him feel strange. It would be something to get over, eventually. 

“Don't be too hard on yourself,” he said. He took a second to add, “I did not exactly make it easy.” 

“You’re right about that,” she jested, some of the tension in the air clearing. 

He took the back of her shoulder and led her ahead of himself. “Alright, it's late. You need to go and rest.” He gave her a nudge forward, careful not to be forceful. 

She looked back at him with a small smile. 

He stayed and watched her leave until he couldn’t see her anymore, and then left for his own chamber. Taking his greatcoat off of the rack, he thought on how he was going to find Gus amidst the chaos. He was there, somewhere—a survivor, who didn’t typically go out of his way for anyone. The last they’d seen of him was when Vaun had confronted him about transporting the coffin. He'd managed to slip away, that time. Daunted by the infected coming their way. And now, Vaun had to find a needle in a haystack. He could hope to run across more worthy needles in his trip, if it were possible. He had some semblance of Gus's whereabouts; he tended to set up camp in empty warehouses. That narrowed it down, if only a little. 

“Okay, Mr. Elizalde...” he mumbled to himself, adding a knife to his arsenal, “Where might you be?” 

Vaun could not have been less pleased with this. He'd drawn up a list in his mind of all of the places he thought to look first—still, nothing. After checking three locations, it began to feel like a useless endeavor. He kicked himself for Gus's escaping at their first introduction. Vaun was about to bag his head and get him into their SUV before another onslaught of _strigoi_ had come their way, which they had to deal with. And in the short amount of time it had taken for them to release the infected, Gus had managed to give them the slip. His hunters were by no means stupid, but one-track minded. He couldn’t blame them, though—it’s hard to hold onto one fighting back while also having to shoot others. 

This was a waste of time, he thought. Everywhere he looked, too, he saw weakness. No one worth his while, at least from what he could could tell. Squirrelly people? No. The selfish? They were a nest and a team. That didn't fly. 

He slunk over the city mainly by rooftop, often having to occupy his free hand with his hood. It was overcast, but the UV had an effect on him all the same. Toned down, but still painful. The sunlight nicked his forehead as the hood tempted to fall back, and so he stopped all together, looking out over the city. It had been reduced to such a pathetic state. People reverting back to their more primal natures, bodies of human and _strigoi_ ; it was a mess. He could just barely see the barriers marking off the “safe” zone in the distance. It wouldn’t be safe much longer, he figured—it was bound to implode. 

Perhaps its self-destruction would begin with their refusal. 

What he could also faintly spy was the area that Camden would have been currently travelling to with Quinlan and the others. This rooftop was lonely. 

He rattled in impatience, peering over the building he stood on. A series of fire escapes. He took his time in climbing down each one, where he made so little noise that he might as well been just a specter. He had two places left in mind, and if nothing turned up from either, he concluded he'd head back. It was uncomfortable to be out in the day, to say the least. Despite being protected by his clothes. 

Before stepping out onto the street, he checked if the coast was clear. Unsurprisingly, no one was out. It was oddly, yet pleasantly quiet. In the back of his mind, he was ever slightly suspicious. In all other times, a quiet city never meant anything good. The night was his true domain. But that day, the streets were his. 

He knew he’d have better been quick about traversing. And he was—he made good time in making it to the second to last location: another old storage building attached to an electrical facility. No doubt abandoned; sparse electricity was being run to this part of the city. So, just to be on the safe side anyway, he took as many back streets as he could, and eventually made it to the perimeter, where he hopped the chain-link fence with ease. As soon as he dropped in he took a deep inhale, trying to catch any kind of scent. He caught a tiny whiff of ammonia, which seemed to have been sprayed nearby. Already not a good sign. Where there had been _strigoi_ , Gus almost certainly was not. He had to check anyway. 

Looking around, he made sure no one was on his trail. No souls in his area, and if they were, he could not see them. The gravel underneath his boots crunched with every step. It made him all too aware of every little noise he made, a habit from years with Quinlan. 

As he got closer to the side door he intended on entering through, he started to lose the scent of ammonia. There could have been a chance of this finally being the place, after all—as much as it made him feel like a hypocrite, he hoped Gus would just be there. He briefly considered even doubling back to stalk the building that the meeting was happening in if he did find the man. 

He tried the door for silence's sake, and as usual, it was locked. He kicked it in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can see, I have totally mangled the timeline of the show to fit this lmao. I'm not actually sure how people feel about this. On one hand, it might be interesting to see a different take on the events of the show, or you know just kind of putting a different spin on certain things to mix it up a little. I like both fanfics that mostly follow the timeline/events, but I also like those that are different. This one is kind of a radical approach to an otherwise straightforward sequence of events that the show originally embodied haha. 
> 
> I finally decided if I actually wanted to add Gus into this. It was probably strange that I hadn't already, but that was purely me being timid tbh. Anytime I wrote experimental chapters introducing/including him I ended up unhappy with the results.
> 
> What do you think about lenient/flexible fanfiction? Or is rigid fanfiction better? This is actually my first fanwork on anything. So I'm still learning. ✌


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Camden sighed softly as she rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. The familiar guard from last time stood right behind her attentively, rifle out as always. As if she’d try anything; that would be a silly idea. Stupid, even. 

The elevator dinged as they reached the floor, and he guided her out with a hand on her upper back. His fingers were close to the nape of her neck, which made her feel uncomfortable—Lar made sure that she would always be paranoid about her neck. Whether it were people or _strigoi_ , it had to always be protected. Being in that hallway lined with the windows brought her back to her more gentle encounter with Grimes. How she touched her face or brushed her hair. Camden now knew that it was all coy. She didn’t know why she believed it in the first place, but by the end of their last meeting, she had been made well aware. 

The guard stepped ahead of her and opened the door, prompting her to go in. He waited at the doorframe as he had before. 

Grimes had been sorting papers on her desk when Camden entered, and so she nearly packed them back into one of the drawers, looking up at her. She made no attempt to look soft or welcoming at this point; it was cold business. 

“I take it that you’ve made your decision?” she asked expectantly. 

Camden sat in the chair before the desk and rolled her shoulder back, “We have.” 

“Oh, it's ‘we’ now? I thought you were just their little messenger.” 

She refused to let Grimes make her feel small. There was no beating around the bush, this time. “The answer is no.” 

Grimes went silent and stared at her, Camden returning the action. The woman looked predatory almost, but Camden didn’t shrink away. “Yes, you heard correctly,” she added, hands resting in her lap. “We will not do your work for you. The fact that you can't get volunteers for something that's supposed to be for the better is incriminating enough—not to mention you want us to _kidnap_ people for you."

Grimes, teeth gritted, rose from her chair and sauntered around the desk. Maybe in an alternate universe, she would have known that she was but a pawn on the chessboard. It seemed like everyone could see it but her, blinded by delusion and the temptation of credit for stopping the plague. Same boat as Justine Feraldo, different contexts.

“I can't say I'm surprised.” 

Camden stayed quiet. She didn't know what to say besides that. What was there to? It was their final answer. And the answer was no, they would not do it. 

There were less inauspicious ways to get what their cause needed. 

“I hope you realize that actually,” Grimes began, pacing around the back of her chair. The hairs on the back of Camden's neck stood up as she bristled, “we don't take no for an answer. Restrain her and the one downstairs, too. No one leaves unless I say so.” 

“You got it,” the burly man responded, grabbing Camden's arms before she could get up. He held her wrists behind the back of the chair with an iron grip, all the while Camden whipped and thrashed in place. Grimes looked down at her and shook her head disapprovingly. 

“You’re pathetic,” she said in a soft tone, crouching down to match Camden’s height. “But you'll do what we say. You and your friends. Only under slightly…different circumstances.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Camden spat. 

“Funny, considering my last name is Grimes. Perhaps fitting. Take her out back and get her loaded up, Jack.”

She stopped and went back to her desk, but added, “And, Jack? Take her down the stairwell. I don’t want her raising Cain in the elevator, or her friend seeing her.”

Downstairs, gunshots boomed. It made her stomach drop—Quinlan was down there with but their few backups in the car, in the face of many of Grimes' own men. It was the first time she would come to doubt his prowess in the face of being outnumbered. 

Camden shrieked wildly as the guard dragged her out of the chair, fighting every step of the way. Grimes reeled back as she reached out to claw her, hit her, grab her. Whatever she could. Her hand only snagged her necklace chain, which popped off her neck, the clasp broken. The pendant hanging from it clattered to the floor, revealing a tiny photo of a man inside. 

“You bitch!” Grimes snarled. She took to the floor instantly to collect the pieces, all the while looking up at Camden with the most hateful eyes she’d ever seen. 

“Off you go, now,” the guard smirked, shoving her into the dark stairwell. He completely bypassed the elevator and instead opted to drag the kicking and screaming girl down the stairs with him. She twisted her wrist and slipped out of his grasp and reached over, digging her nails into his eye. He bellowed a scream and stumbled down, still holding onto her—his huge bodyweight came down onto hers at the bottom of the staircase. He fell atop her. The wind was knocked out of her. She could barely breathe, and yet still kept fighting, writhing underneath him. He recovered and snatched her arms again, blood dropping down onto her face from his mangled eye. She would have bitten him had he not expected it, and so he kept his distance as he rasped, “I’m gonna fuck you up.”

“Burn in Hell,” she wheezed, baring her teeth. She kicked him in the groin with as much force as he could. 

Through the intense pain, he grunted and landed a solid punch to her jaw before forcing her up onto feet. She immediately panicked, ignoring the blunt throb of pain emanating from her jaw, and felt of her back teeth with her tongue; one had been knocked loose. It came undone with her prodding and she spat it out into the ground, blood and spittle flying with it. She’d never get it back. 

It took him a few minutes with her constant struggling, but he was able to get her down into the hallway, where he'd take her out the back entrance. Three more men met up with them in the hall, panting and frightened looking. 

“What?” the guard, Jack, barked. 

“He—” one started, pointing behind himself with his gun. 

“That fucking freak escaped,” the other finished. “We think he's calling for backup.” 

Jack let out an angry growl and slammed his fist into the door behind him, cracking the glass window. “Get your Goddamn shit together and take care of the mess. Now!” 

The two, they shot him a conflicted look before darting off, one reloading his weapon along the way. Camden screamed Quinlan’s name in hopes that he would hear her somehow, but Jack continued pulling her away toward a back exit. She shrieked again as loud as she could, her voice becoming hoarse. No one came. All she heard were more intermittent gunshots outside, followed by hollers of men. 

“Be a good little bitch and get in the car,” Jack snarled as an SUV peeled around the corner, pulling up to the carport. 

The hand holding Camden's arm and shoulder was released after a bullet whizzed by her head. It struck the guard right in his shoulder, dangerously close to his heart. She scrambled free as he fell to the side, and in the second it took, Quinlan was there. He scooped her up roughly and ran with incredible speed while more people fired at them from down the street. 

He set her down as they took cover behind road blockades that had been set up. She was in messy tears, feeling like a child all over again. She couldn’t have been more grateful for him. 

Sheathing his sword on his back, he reloaded one if his guns and shot over the blockade. 

Camden frantically looked around them, “Quinlan, if I die here—” 

“You will not,” he quickly responded, growling as he took aim again. A few bullets hit the blockade next to her arm, and she instinctively drew closer to Quinlan, trying to avoid the spray. 

Quinlan's eyes shot up above them, trained on something flying their way, to his right—a flashbang.

He shielded her as best he could from his position. She was so much less aware than he was at any given moment. If anything, he would protect her eyes. Nothing would keep from damaging her hearing. The deafening boom sounded, causing her to flinch and him to grit his teeth.

His ears rang intensely. He was as disoriented as Camden was, partially blind in his left eye. She went prone on the ground, bumping her head, and he tried to aim despite being half blind and almost totally deaf. The group of guys ahead pushed closer to them, forcing Quinlan to grab Camden and take cover behind a delivery truck abandoned on the side of the road. Camden sucked in a breath and clenched her jaw, desperately trying to gain her footing. Her head spun relentlessly. She tripped as she twisted her ankle in a pothole, slamming her head down onto the concrete. Blood trickled out underneath her face and smeared onto her cheek. Into her hair. 

Thee sound of a shotgun round rang from just around the corner, and from the corner of her eye, she wall Quinlan take a knee, several bullet holes peppering his abdomen. _Buckshot_. “Quinlan!” she cried, crawling towards him. A pair of strong hands grasped her from under her arms and dragged her backwards. She tried and tried to cry out, to get back to Quinlan—she just couldn’t. Her eyes accidentally fell on the sun overhead, to which a cloth was then slapped over them. Her left thigh was searing in pain. 

The last thing she saw before being hauled into that car was Quinlan lying still on the ground, the few remaining men stepping over and around him. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

As Vaun wandered the corridors of the last place he was to check, all of their responsibilities seemed to hit him at once. He’d been occupied for a while up until then, thoughts not drifting toward the presence looming over all of their heads. But in the time that he walked the halls of the old facility, his mind went to The Lumen, The Master and his cohorts, and then to Grimes. He couldn’t have been more suspicious of the woman—it had been a bad idea all along, requesting anything of them. He wondered who she reported to. She wasn’t the head of the entire operation; there had to be a shadow figure at the top, sending orders down to do their dirty deeds while Grimes and others such as Justine Feraldo sat in lesser power underneath them. You never see the true people behind operations, only their figureheads. 

Quite the mess Elizalde has made, Vaun thought in disdain. Whether he should have paid the price for his unknown crime against humanity was beyond him, frankly—though, the situation with his mother may have been a start. How unfortunate it was, and yet Vaun still couldn’t bring himself to lose any sleep over it. 

Elizalde would pay with his alliance. Considering the circumstances, it was a lowball.   
As he rounded a corner, a feral strigoi came barreling out of an adjacent room, ramming right into Vaun's side. He caught himself against the wall on a pipe with a hiss, whipping out his rifle. For a second, the feral seemed more caught off-guard than he’d been, but he was quick to place a silver round in its head. He grunted and looked over the body. Not recently fed.

He cursed it—a _strigoi_ in this place didn't exactly point toward anyone being there. He would have to check the other wing.  
R

loudly in frustration, he went to turn tail and head back from where he came. Until he saw from a window a figure bolting from a side exit, that was. Weapons in tow and booking it. It was immediate pursuit. Vaun was on him like a bound dog, busting out through the door and making sure to keep his eyes on the person at all times. This was his “lucky” day, he thought; likely it was that the gunfire scared him off. But he had far more stamina than who he was in not pursuit with, bounding over abandoned equipment, avoiding all that the man running from him nearly tripped and caught on. 

Vaun almost thought he was going to lose him due to the guy's head start, but lo and behold, the fence that Vaun had so easily jumped was what stopped him. He was fast, but Vaun was faster; as the person tried to vault over the top, Vaun grabbed his ankle, ripping him off the fence. 

Pulling back the hood covering the person's face, Vaun was admittedly almost shocked to see. If it wasn’t Gus Elizalde there in the flesh, he thought—and just in the nick of time. They _had_ been correct. 

“Get off me!” he yelled, bringing his arm back for a punch. 

“Bad idea,” he responded. He pinned his arm down and took the liberty to pull his face cover down. 

Gus stopped fighting so fervently when he realized who it was. He heaved a few heavy breaths and looked up at him, recognizing the scars on Vaun's face. The weight left his body as he stood up, and as he did, Gus rose as well, keeping a few feet's distance between them. 

“It’s you,” he stated. 

“Indeed it is,” Vaun replied. Whatever Gus had on him, he hadn’t drawn yet, and so he put his rifle away to make the grounds even. “And we have been looking for you.”

“Yeah, like the last time you jumped me,” Gus spat. He rubbed the side of his head, which had a bleeding scratch on it from his tumble. “Man, I don't know what you want—” 

“Your word,” Vaun answered bluntly. He ignored the allure of blood and took to continuing, “I take it you know at least some of what you’ve done. Letting yourself be swayed, transporting the Master across the river. And what did it amount to? No what you had expected, I assume. Refer back to your mother.”

“Shut up,” Gus said, voice low and nearly shaking. He turned and looked as though he was going to walk away, but he whirled back around, tempting to strike Vaun in the gut. Being much faster, Vaun caught his hand and shoved him forward, kicking him in the back. He hit the gravel on his stomach, bile rising in his throat. He quickly flipped back over and got onto his feet.

“How many times will you try that until you learn?” Vaun asked, looming over him like a shadow. 

Gus went in for a fake, and as Vaun threw his hand out to block the jab, he sidestepped, taking the chance to uppercut him. The stinger in his throat jumped with the sudden impact. Vaun parried another one of his blows and this time, grabbing Gus's shirt and sending his knee into his gut. He stepped back as Gus doubled over in a coughing fit as bile came up into his mouth. He spat out what didn’t go back down, wiping his mouth of the remnants. No matter what he did, it seemed like Vaun would always be one step ahead. He wondered where he learned to fight so well.

“You’re good,” Gus partially laughed, though his face was contorted in a scowl. He watched Vaun closely as he took a swig of water from his bottle, making sure to still be on his toes should Vaun have tried to get the upper hand on him again. 

“Likewise. Now, will you cooperate?” 

Gus panted, “If you went through all this trouble for me, it must be somethin'.” 

“Then listen,” barked Vaun. 

He went on to explain everything. He didn’t spare any details, regarding all about the Master, the situation with Grimes, and their stance on the Lumen, which Quinlan still actively pursued. Had Gus not a role in the downfall of New York, he would have laughed in Vaun's face. But he felt the sting of guilt in his chest when he thought about all that he’d done in his life, all of which led up to the piece de resistance of his mistakes: driving a truck across a river. Something which had seemed benign enough snowballed into one of the greatest fuck-ups of all time. He already paid for it in what he thought had been in full, with his mother, but he would continue to pay for it until his last days. 

“I am not here to lecture you about your mistakes,” Vaun said, “but I am here to help you settle your debt.”   
Gus licked his chapped lips. When he wasn’t fighting Vaun, he almost felt a sense of partnership. In a strange way. He requested of him his alliance, and in turn, Gus would be given the chance to rectify his mistakes. 

“This thing," Gus started uncertainly, “the 'Master'—how are we supposed stop him?” 

Both heard the gunshots sounding from somewhere in the city. Even though they were hidden in the shade of a vehicle port in the facility, the sunlight overhead made Vaun want to get out as soon as possible. Being out of action like that brought him a sense of uneasiness knowing what was going down just a few miles away with Grimes. How much of a slippery slope it was. 

Vaun pulled out his rifle, preparing to leave. “We give it all we got."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

“…the thread, Nora?” said a muffle of a voice. Her head throbbed as she cracked her eyes open, greeted by the bathing of white light above her. It aggravated the ache behind her eyes; she tilted to the side. A cold surface grazed her cheek. 

She mumbled something incoherent, and the person working on her leg stood up. Her groggy gaze met his before multiple pricks of pain hit her leg, causing her to kick up—he lightly pushed it back down onto the table. As she became lucid her struggling increased, with her flinching and shifting all over the table. He told her to stop moving. That he was working on her leg, trying to stitch it up. It seemed to not matter in the face of the most pressing issue; she was gone, and Quinlan was possibly dead. Being a hybrid, the extent of his healing capabilities was unknown to her. 

“Camden,” the voice said, pulling down his face mask, “I’m trying to help you.” He stopped stitching momentarily. She strained to hear him clearly. 

Doctor Goodweather, the name ran through her mind. The infamous doctor himself. She groaned and propped herself up on an elbow, scanning her surroundings. Looking for an out as instinct told her—but today, instinct would not do. Instinct could get her killed, or worse. No, everything that was to be said and done had to be scrutinized before hand, lest she make a fatal mistake. She shielded her eyes from the intense lights and trained her good ear on all the little sounds she could. The shuffling of Goodweather's clothes as he worked, the buzzing of a light. Between her and his voice, she couldn't detect all of the nuances sounds as she had before. Ephraim continued to work the needle and thread, pulling it through her skin and out again. She sat up some and looked down at her leg. 

“You don't need many, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Ephraim told her, tugging the last stitch. She let out a chuckle mixed with a scoff; this was the least of her problems. Out of all her ails, the loss of hearing on her right ear was the most pressing. 

“My hearing…” she winced. Her fingers felt around her ear. She couldn’t pick up the sound of her hair moving or her finger rubbing against her skin. Her left ear (while not as bad), was still compromised. She only faintly heard the clatter of a metal tool against the tray next to the table. 

Ephraim gave her a disappointingly reaffirming look, as if to say that yes, she was right—her hearing was shot.   
He swept his messy hair away from his forehead and leaned his hand against the table. “I’m sorry.” 

Lip ever slightly quivering, she dropped her elbow and lay back, wanting to cry then and there. She hadn’t heard them enter, but another person came into view, a woman with dark hair, loosely pulled back into a ponytail. Her gaze was soft and remorseful as she looked down at Camden, who was stunned by just how vulnerable she felt without her hearing. Confused and unaware of her surroundings, she was ultimately at the mercy of her captors. But seeing the familiar face of Goodweather made her ask herself: how did they find themselves tangled up in this mess, too? 

She sat up again, and the woman regarded her by telling Camden her name. Ephraim's literal partner in crime. She had to speak up in order for Camden to catch it, and the more she had to raise her voice, the more she felt doomed to that place.

Nora pulled Ephraim aside with an anxious look, which Camden could only watch from across the room. The little gestures of her hands, every knit of the eyebrow, the tiny nods. From that distance, she could not hear them at all. She suddenly felt like an outsider looking in, like she were observing their exchange from the window in the hall outside. Figures occasionally passed by, some looking in at her, and others simply ignoring their presence. Her mind drifted to Vaun. Despite all that had happened in the short while they’d been gone, irrationally, she worried about him just as much as herself. She didn’t know whether it could be taken as an insult on his account or not; but she could only wish him safe travels as he searched for Elizalde. How long would it be until he knew that she was missing? And Quinlan? What became of him, she just didn’t know—but in spite of his standoffishness, she'd never wished anything bad on him. 

Perhaps there was a black cloud hanging over her head. It seemed like wherever she went, whoever she was with, something most always went wrong. 

Ephraim returned to her side with Nora, and Camden wasn’t at all ready for what they would unload on her; everything. The research they’d been forced to do through blackmail, followed by recently getting the clear to begin human testing. Neither were sure what the next step was. Neither wanted to go through with testing, due to the unpredictable nature of it. And now here they were, Grimes possession of a bargaining chip for the ones under the Ancients to do their bidding, so long that they valued their ally. It all rode on that, otherwise, it was all for not. 

They had to talk loudly into her almost useless left ear, which Ephraim found to be a challenge when it was supposed to be quiet. He found a notepad on a counter nearby and scribbled down everything they had been trying to say that fell on literal deaf ears.   
When Camden finished reading it, she spoke loudly, not totally aware of the volume of her voice. “What are you going to—” 

Nora quickly went to hush her as some people walked by outside, “Camden, you can't hear how loud you're speaking,” she said in a hurry as politely as possible, side-eyeing the door. “You have to be quieter.”

Ephraim rubbed his face and eyes tiredly. The situation was exasperating, her being deaf and them having to report back on their stance on testing soon. They’d planned to have gotten out before it had come to this, but it proved difficult with armed personnel roaming the halls of the research facility. He finished patching up Camden's leg as he thought about it, Nora asking her questions about her and her circumstances all the way. Camden told them about Vaun and Quinlan and the Ancients, what she’d been doing, how she’d gotten there. They’d only heard bits and pieces of the _strigoi_ group from talk around the facility.

“Is she really forcing you?” Camden asked them, referring back to the tests they’d mentioned. She remembered the file she’d read weeks prior. 

“Well, conditions are that we do this for them, and in turn, we don’t get lynched,” Ephraim explained. 

Camden sighed, “Mr. Goodweather, I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” she swung her legs over the side, “but we are in deep shit.” 

He gave her an agreeing look and strode over to a cabinet nearby, scrounging around in it before pulling out a bottle of amber liquid. Nora shook her head and busied herself with cleaning up the tools on the tray. Ephraim took a swig and handed it over to Camden, “It’ll take the edge off.” She hesitantly took the bottle from him and popped the cap off, wafted by the distinctly alcoholic scent. It burnt her nose. Back in the day, she didn’t drink much, but when she did it was nothing strong like this. Whiskey bourbon? No. But with the bullet hole in her leg, the throbbing headache and all of her little bumps and scrapes, it was bottoms up. 

Nora lightly scoffed as took a gulp with a grimace, and then another, until she was sure that Camden wasn't intent on stopping yet. She snatched the bottle from her and capped it, setting it aside in the cabinet once again. She put her hand on her hip. “That’s enough.” 

Camden let out a shaky breath, feeling the leftover kick from the drink. “Cut me some slack, please,” she said dismally. 

Thirty minutes passed of Camden trying to get her bearings on reality as the whiskey hit her, and the door across from them swung open. A older man popped in, eyes immediately falling on groggy Camden. “Boss said to get her, so I'm here,” he said curtly before inserting himself between Nora and Ephraim, who reluctantly parted for him. Eph, rushing, scratched something onto the notepad as the man collected her. He put her arm over his shoulder and pulled her off the table, all the while she just mumbled profanities at her aches and pains, along with unintelligible things. Ephraim snapped his finger to get her attention, displaying the note pad for her to see. She scrubbed up her face trying to read it. “ _WE’LL FIND U LATER_ ” it read. She grinned discreetly and gave him a weak thumbs up, dropping her hand as the man carrying her looked at her. 

He was mostly gentle, except for when she tried to slide away from him, to which he lofted her back up and dragged her along, the tips of her toes barely working for her. “This is going to be a lot easier if you just don't do that,” he told her. 

“Yeah!” she agreed, her head leaning against his shoulder, “but it's…never easy. So why not?” She swallowed heavily and bumped her hip against his, trying in vain to throw him off balance. He only slapped his hand to his forehead and kept pulling her along, wondering whether she was drunk or if the doctor had given her anesthetics. He winced as she grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked it, and so she earned herself a jab to side with his elbow.

He received a few weird looks as he set off down the hall with the woozy girl in tow, only stopping when he reached the office in question. Her palm rammed the bottom of his jaw as he let her down and guided her into the room, with her having to cling onto the doorway as an intense pain shot down her injured leg. She started to walk past the door before he pulled her back.

“This way,” he corrected her, guiding her into the office by the back of the shoulders.

“What? I'm fuckin'…deaf.” She broke into a fit of tears. He gave Grimes a reluctant look, almost as if saying sorry for the mess he just dragged in. She wasn't supposed to be zonked for their confrontation. No, Grimes had wanted it to be able to sink in right away. Now it would have to come through a veil of drunken fog.

“You know...you're kind of nice,” she said through a sniffle, “for a bad guy.”

A small pang of guilt hit him. If he weren’t in a compromised position himself, maybe he would have taken the liberty to help the sorry lot of Nora, Ephraim and now, Camden. 

He told her that she should probably quiet it down in the presence of his boss.

“That's all,” Grimes stated. She watched with disdain as Camden struggled to keep her balance before her. “And shut the door on your way out.”

The man silently complied and left, only hesitating for a second before shutting the door behind himself. 

Grimes made quick business of telling Camden that she wouldn't get very far in an assault on her if she tried. She didn't need her fingers to be a bargaining chip. They were so easily broken.

“I see you got into Doctor Goodweather's liquor,” she deadpanned. It was underwhelming, trying to intimidate a person out of their right mind. “ _He_ isn't supposed to have any, either.” She wondered if Camden was the brash type of drunk or not. Seeing from the random bursts of tears, she assumed…not.

“He gave me it 'cause you're crazy, and I...have a bullet hole in my leg,” Camden responded, some of her words slurring. Her eyes wandered all over the room, taking in all the details. Awards, certificates, photos. All featured her and colleagues. They eventually fell on Grime's wrinkled face, and neck, and then the locket she barely recognized in her haze. The one she’d snapped right off during their last encounter, which held the tiny photo. It piqued her curiosity, “So…who's it in the photo in that thing?” 

“You’re awfully chatty for someone that's at the mercy of me,” Grimes bit back, ignoring the nosey question. “And for your information, it's my husband. Now get back on topic.”

“I’m just wondering, because…you…who would _marry you_?” 

“ _Enough_!” Grimes snarled as she slammed her fist down onto the table. “You’re going to shut it the fuck up while I talk,” her nostrils flared, “because—”

“Oh, God…” Camden groaned, another wave of waterworks coming on. As much as she almost found humor in it, the gravity of the situation was beginning to set in. 

She never liked being yelled at. 

Grimes laughed, one part genuinely entertained and the other out of pure, neurotic stress. “You are just…pathetic,” she spat, still chuckling, even though her face contorted to a scowl. “Congratulations, if this was your plan all along to drive me absolutely up the fucking wall, you've done it!”

“I wasn't—"

“No. I don't want to hear it.” 

Camden fell quiet as her stomach gurgled and churned. Through gritted teeth she asked Grimes in all seriousness, “Why did you want me?”

Grimes stood up tall, rivalling Camden's height. “The short and simple version? I want to keep my head because my boss wants people. I get the money and security, and he gets whatever the hell he wants. You're my ticket.” She rapped her fingers on the table, staring down Camden with those cutting grey eyes. Caught in the standoff and feeling dizzy, Camden could only stare back, and in that moment it went utterly still. Grimes assessing and Camden receiving, who was starting to regret her consultation with the bottle earlier. Her stomach rolled and turned, alcoholic gas bubbling up and up until she doubled over and vomited on the rug, every stress rearing its ugly head at that very second. The sound of heels clacking against the floor approached closer. 

“Ugh,” Grimes scoffed, leering down at the shamed girl. Camden avoided her gaze as she trembled on her hands and knees from the episode. “You’re repulsive. Matt, get her out of here. And get someone to clean this up.”

The man from before slipped in and helped her up onto her feet, which was still a task in of itself. “What do you want me to do with her?” he asked. 

“To her room. She doesn't leave until I say so.”

He nodded and took her up, leading her out of the heavy-atmosphere office and into the bright hallway. He noticed that Camden was still shaking from her bout of vomiting and sighed. It was sad, really. They went through a series of hallways before reaching a makeshift barracks that housed personnel, where multiple rooms were lined up. She thought he would have stopped at one of the larger rooms, but they came upon what was more akin to a closet, and when he opened it up, she found that she had been correct—it basically _was_ a closet. Looked to have housed cleaning supplies and the likes at one point, but the shelves had been cleared, with a tiny, dank mattress now stuck in the corner. It smelled faintly of chemicals and mildew from the ragged pallet. Her stomach churned once again when she saw the bucket in the other corner.

“It ain't much, but...” the man, Matt, started, scratching the back of his head. “Just try to get some sleep.”

Camden left his side and wobbled over to the mattress. She fell down onto it tiredly. She was exhausted, even despite having slept for who knows how long after she’d passed out in that car. Matt stayed behind and watched for for a moment before she looked up at him and asked why he was still there. 

“Oh—I’m going,” he stammered. She sat up and rested her elbow on her knee. Vaun came to her mind. And Quinlan and Lar, too. Both of which she'd finally got on good terms with, except perhaps Quinlan, who's true opinion of her and Vaun was still unknown. This was bad. It made her miss all the nights she tossed and turned over Vaun, like she’d taken that for granted, because now she was here, rolling on a dirty mattress in a closet and at the mercy of a psycho woman who was reporting to someone probably even more disturbed. 

Just before the door shut, she stuck her heel out and stopped it. "Thank you for treating me kindly," she told the mild-tempered guard, who in earnest was just someone trying to get by like herself.

His lips pursed. He looked down either end of the hallway, then dug around in his pocket, tossing her a hard candy. She unrwapped the crinkly plastic and popped it in her mouth as he left, trying to rid herself of the aftertaste of whiskey. It was a butterscotch, something she hadn't had in ages. A classic. 

Her mind went blank for a few minutes as she sat there and sucked on the candy. It was humble, yet it brought her back to her days at her grandparents' house as a kid. She eventually came to remembering Ephraim's last message to her before she got dragged off, and wondered briefly if they even knew where she was. Surely not. Still, she got up and tried the door, which was locked, unsurprisingly. Even if it had been unlocked, she didn’t even know where to begin. 

But out of all of the uncertain things, she knew one thing for sure; she wanted to be back home. With Vaun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go bois, tryna to work with this dumpster fire of a story🔥🔥 And we're nearin the end. Despite the obvious..."meh-ness" about this fanfic in regards to The Strain's original plot, I don't think I'm too shabby at writing itself. 
> 
> Or I'm just cocky. 
> 
> Anyway, ~enjoy~


	19. Chapter Nineteen

The entire way back, Elizalde berated Vaun with questions. They weaved through the quiet city sector and avoided those places which looked like they could have been inhabited. Vaun was keen to get back quickly, as he held Camden in a thought in the back of his head constantly. Never would he have imagined that he’d feel such a way about her, or anyone else, really; but it was true, that, and for the first time since, he forced himself to acknowledge it. It was both a relief and a pinch to his pride. 

Gus ran along side him with a small firearm that he'd been given by the hunter, questioning him all along the way. They finally made it to the compound entrance, somewhere Gus didn’t recognize at all, and Vaun led him in.   
“Nice place you got here,” Gus muttered, taking in the still and musty smell of the air. He lowered his weapon, “didn’t know this existed.” 

“No one is supposed to, that's why,” Vaun responded obviously. “Follow me.” 

Gus stuck by him as Vaun brought him to one of the many extra chambers within the compound. Decidedly away from Camden's, as if were barely a second thought. Vaun was intent on dropping him off in a locked room before he set off to consult the Ancients. When they got to the chamber, Vaun shoved him in uncaringly, to which Gus retaliated by trying to stop the door with his foot. “Hey, man—!” he shouted. Vaun slammed it on him anyway and ignored the angry yells and bangs on the door as he left. Any of his hunters that tried to hold him up along the way were pushed to the side; there was no room for distractions any longer. No more tolerance of his failure to recognize what had been hanging right in front of his face that entire time. And just as he came upon the doors to the Ancients' dwellings, he felt a sudden pang in his stomach. An itch, insatiable by his rational mind. Whether it had been intuition or happenstance, he didn’t know, but he got the intrinsic feeling in his gut that something was wrong. He stopped momentarily just before the doors, trying to collect his bearings on that intrusive poke to his psyche. One that inexplicably pulled him in another direction, toward the exit to the compound. And yet after a few minutes of battling with himself, that inside which stirred and prompted him to follow the feeling, he still didn’t heed its beckon. Instead shook the sensation off of himself, straightening up as he entered the Ancients' chamber. 

He approached them with the coolness and respect as he always had, regarding them mentally. They answered him, asking what had become of his task of finding Elizalde, which Vaun confirmed had in fact taken place. 

“But they are late,” Vaun stated, the earlier sensation creeping back up. "What is this?” he muttered to himself, still feeling the foreign sensations. His hand instinctually found his stomach, and then his chest, where his heart was unusually active. Their raspy voices reached his mind. 

They fidgeted and twitched as they asked, “Such as what?”   
It took Vaun a moment to respond, as even he did not know, but he studied himself before saying, “It’s like a call.” 

“ _A call, you say,”_ they pondered. “And what might it be to?” 

“That is why I ask. It is a new development.” 

_“Seek and you will find, because we know not_ ,” they answered him finally, the transmission then coming to an abrupt end. It was all the permission he needed to race out of the room as the strange tugging at his being took full control. He drove himself this time, peeling out of place while his memory guided him through all the roads that eventually led to the building that they’d met Grimes in once before. When he arrived, he disregarded concealing the car—it didn't matter. Something was terribly off. He had his rifle at the ready as he stepped out onto the street, eyeing the empty car lot ahead of him. It was deathly quiet. Papers that rode the breeze blew past him. 

Deep down, there was a knot growing in him. No guards were stationed at the doors to the office as they had been before. It was an immediate red flag, an alarm that blared in his head as he forced the glass door open with his foot, rifle steady in his hand. A strong scent of human blood hit him instantly. That knot which had been building within him came to a head when he saw the bullet holes littering the lobby, some discarded shells strewn on the floor, and then, the bodies of two guards laying lifeless on the floor. His feeling had been true, he thought, rushing up the stairwell to the fourth floor. He spotted a tooth and a small splatter of dried blood on one of the landings as he flew up the stairs. Each step was just a little bit closer of what he had unknowingly come to fear, and that fear was still yet confirmed when he entered the fourth floor and found it totally silent. He dashed along the hallway, looking into each room before he skidded to a stop at one closed door, while the rest had been open or cracked. Twisting the handle, he swung it open. 

Nothing. A vacant room that showed sign of use, unlike the rest, with a chair tipped over on its side, papers and other junk occupying the desk. Beginning to dissipate in the air was a familiar smell, organic and unmistakable, mixed in with another that was so strongly—and manufactured—a floral scent. Perfume; something that his Camden most definitely did not wear. 

She’d been there recently. And he’d only just missed her, judging by the freshness if it all. 

He saw a framed photo on the desk and picked it up. A woman, brown-haired with discerning green-grey eyes, standing next to a man, who had a warm smile on his face. But she did not hold that same sincere tenderness, for with cold eyes she looked at him through the photo, and in a lapse of his composure, he dropped the frame, smashing a heavy boot down onto the glass. It was then that he began to question Quinlan's whereabouts, too; he’d never made it back to the compound. But his worry was more or less justly concentrated on Camden, who he stressed about the most out of all, because he knew Quinlan could take care of himself. He was tough, much more durable than any human. He was vital to both their operations and Vaun's life, though. So he left, stepping over the bodies as he exited into the parking lot, where he then noticed skid marks from tires. Down the street he also spotted road blockades and a toppled delivery truck. 

The edges of the buildings he passed, on both sides, had marks where bullets had grazed them. 

There had been a shootout. 

He saw a body with the head taken clean off. Another, who had been acutely sliced at the shoulder. And for the first time in a long time, he cursed in genuine at what he smelled: blood. And that of a familiar presence's. 

“Bastards," he hissed. 

Jumping a barrier, he was shocked to find Quinlan ahead barely conscious, a few half-healed bullet wounds in his abdomen. Vaun ran up and dropped down next to him, Quinlan grimacing as he opened up his greatcoat and peeled off his undershirt. Buckshot, Vaun immediately recognized. 

“What happened?” he asked urgently, inspecting the wounds on Quinlan's stomach. 

“Reinforcements, when we declined,” Quinlan strained as he tried to sit up, but the pellets from the shotgun round were scattered in his body, burning with pain every time he moved. “They got her."

Quinlan removed his hand from one of the bleeding wounds, and Vaun put it back, “Keep pressure on that—did you see where they went?” 

Nodding his head over to his left, he gestured toward the road, wincing at the pain in his torso. 

“I’m going after them,” said Vaun. He was concluded, and there was nothing to stop him. “Are you able to walk?” 

“A moment, if you would,” Quinlan groaned as he sat up against the blockade, using Vaun's shoulder to help him up onto his feet. He closed up his greatcoat and adjusted the sword on his back, “Give me the keys.” Vaun took the ring out of his pocket and dropped them in his hand. “In my current state I am not fit to do so, and neither are you,” he told Vaun bluntly, setting off in a slight limp down the road. Vaun rattled and ran up to beside him. 

“What do you mean 'unfit'? I can't sit back and let this happen!” 

Quinlan continued on his way, but when he did not respond Vaun grabbed his arm and turned him around. “Unhand me, Vaun,” Quinlan growled. 

“Tell me why I should not, and I will,” Vaun responded lowly, hand gripped tight on Quinlan's sleeve.

“Perhaps because it is of no consequence.” 

“Say it outright,” spat back Vaun, “you think I'm a fool, for…” 

Quinlan cocked a hairless brow at him and pried the hand off of his arm. “Go on,” he prodded. 

Vaun tensed and lowered his gun. “Do _not_ goad me, Born.” 

“You brought that one on yourself,” Quinlan commented, rounding the corner to the car. “So, what are you going to do? Simply walk into the so-called safe zone, right past the militia, and then singlehandedly bust into the research facility? You must have lost your mind in recent days.” 

At a loss as to what to say, Vaun hung back as Quinlan looked at him with those intensely blue eyes. He was right, as much as he did not want to admit. Somewhere along the way he’d maybe lost sight of his priorities. Hypothetically, Vaun could have just let them do as they pleased with Camden, and that would be that. He was not stupid and so knew that this was another one of Grime's attempts at getting them to do what she wanted, but he could not rest easy. No longer was it only about himself and his duties, their cause, because he now divided his attention and energy between that and the human, who he had inevitably come to…treasure. The bud had been there for a while, but in those past two weeks it came to blossom into a fully-fledged enigma. It became impossible to ignore. 

“Quinlan,” Vaun called out to him, who had put quite a distance between them. “You value the years that we've spent building on this friendship, do you not?” 

“I fail to see what you're getting at,” Quinlan responded. 

“If you truly do, you will respect my decisions. You may join me or leave me in them, but I need to know—do you support me in my endeavor?”

Quinlan stopped as if in thought, the atmosphere quiet. He implored, “Do you mean, in your delusions of the heart? How oddly human of you.”

Heaving a breath, Vaun answered. “It appears so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 165 pages of this MaStErPiEcE? Chuck Hogan is QUAKING   
> Jk, this is going to end up being almost a wholeass novel and I have no idea how it's gone this long already 😂 Talk about filler  
> Anyway, I digress, pt2 of this chapter is in the making as I got very busy over the weekend.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically pt2 of chapter nineteen, but ended up splitting them due to flow.

Vaun silently worked on Quinlan's abdomen as he lay there on the table, helping to extract the pellets of the buckshot that his body hadn’t yet ejected. 

“Were you not a halfling, all of these would have already made their way out,” Vaun commented, using the pair of tweezers to carefully remove the last pellet from the wound. He tossed it aside into a bin. Quinlan sat up and Vaun leaned his over onto the table in thought. “I need to find out where that facility is.” 

“I can see you are bent on getting her back,” said Quinlan, “but do not forget that we have other priorities. Where is Elizalde?”

“Locked in a room in the East end, where he’s going to stay until I figure this out,” Vaun answered impatiently, wracking his brain on just how he was going to approach the situation with Camden. He noticed Quinlan looking at him out of the corner of his eye, “What?” 

“I never thought I would see the day,” Quinlan replied ambiguously, getting off of the table. “Though, I guess my warnings were not enough for you to control yourself. You managed to make a fool out of me for thinking you would have learned from my own mistakes, but now you put yourself and the mission in jeopardy. For what? Something that you will never have?”

Vaun shot him a vicious look, “You may not have been able to save the one dearest to you so long ago, but I still have the chance,” he said, “I have learned from your 'mistake'.”

Quinlan took his eyes off of him and went still as he recounted everything. He could have gotten angry at Vaun for saying it. But he didn't; it was true. His wife and adopted daughter had not been the mistake itself. They were at one time his greatest loves and misses. In his eyes, the fault lay in him, knowing of the risks but continuing all the same. And he paid the price dearly for it, ever since, and would evermore. 

That was his mistake. But of that had come his purpose in life, to hunt and end the one that had taken it all away from him. The drive to put a stop to the downfall of humankind, and to set his soul at ease, where he could finally rest. 

And so, he questioned himself. 

Was he truly doing Vaun a favor by restraining him? Or would he let him, and eventually have to stand by him as Vaun dealt with the aftermath of her certain death? Until she left him for another world? It seemed like no matter what, he was doomed to feel the pain that he himself had once felt, and still felt, really; because the deed had been done. He was in love with her. 

“Vaun.” 

He met him face to face. “I know what you are going to say—” 

“I hope that you will make the right decision for yourself. That is all I can tell you.” 

Vaun was blindsided. It was something he’d never expected to hear from Quinlan, yet he had heard correctly. It took him some time, but he told him that he would. He knew he would. 

With that, Vaun was left alone with his thoughts in that horribly quiet room. He hadn’t noticed how used he’d gotten to all the noise Camden made just by existing. Footsteps, coughs, laughs, mutters to herself…the thrum of her heart and blood. It was too quiet—he had to get out of there. He had to take action, somehow. There was no complacency. There was no laziness. There was just Camden, him, and that newfound flame, something that had never even been considered. Before her, it was orders. Devotion to others and their cause. Being at the disposal of the Ancients for the sake of everything that was on the line. 

It was time to do something for himself. 

On his way down the hall, lit afire by his resolve, Lar found him at the door of Elizalde's chamber. 

“He has been causing quite a racket back here,” groaned Lar, who banged hard on the door as the human behind it tried to force it open. “Are you here to shut him up?” 

Vaun moved him aside and took the key out, “Not exactly what I had in mind. Lar, get geared up and a van around. We've got a new mission.” He unlocked it and forced his way through, almost causing Gus to fall backward. “I’m sure you’re eager to get out of here. How do you feel about causing some chaos, Elizalde?”

Lar stayed back at the doorway, leaning against it and watching in interest. 

“Depends on who and where,” Gus responded in suspicion. 

“The benefactors of the safe zone, at the research facility. The one that's been controlling the militia and trying to alter the virus.”

“Those guys? Anything to rough up that fucking organization.” 

“We will, and _much_ more,” Vaun said venomously, “be ready to leave at my command.” 

Vaun still kept the door locked until everything was ready and left with Lar to let his men know of what they were doing. 

“Storming the facility?” Lar questioned him, confused at the new target. “What is there?” 

“Something I hold very dear to me.” 

“It must be something, or someone, special,” Lar said knowingly. He had called this one, for sure, all the times he’d caught Vaun watching him training the human. He’d reckoned that it was true once he’d witnessed how much he had been on the fritz those last couple of weeks. 

“I wouldn’t be doing this if she were not.”

“Likely so,” Lar responded. “If she did not already like you, she will now,” he jested. A half-suggestion; he was pretty sure she was just as into him as he was her. But he found it entertaining how Vaun stopped and suddenly looked concerned, as if the idea that she didn’t already enjoy his company in the way he did hers struck a nerve. “If you couldn’t tell, that was a joke,” he elaborated, “you should try it sometime. You might find it enjoyable.” 

“Lar, this is not the time,” Vaun said, unable to concentrate with Lar talking his ear off. “Have a van ready by eight tonight. We leave as soon as curfew is in order.” 

“I will be sure to.” Vaun started to walk away, but he was beckoned back, “And Vaun?” 

“What is it now?” 

“The human happened to grow on me some. Let's get her back safely, shall we?” he said, watching Vaun's expression closely. 

Vaun was not totally aware, but the word to describe the twinge of something could have been “jealous.” Him being on the sidelines while she and Lar did their own thing in the training room all of those times added a level of context that made Vaun uncomfortable to some degree. He told Lar, “Just go and prepare. I will meet up with you later.” 

Lar got what he wanted and went on his way happily, while Vaun continued to round up his men for their upcoming task. First was to penetrate the wall. There were few, but existing, points of entry that were less heavily guarded than their more-often attacked counterparts, where the militia focused their attention. He would have considered the tunnels, had they not been infested with feral _strigoi_. They would have to find a way to slip through unnoticed, make it to the facility, and from there, play it by ear. And while he was there? Take out the person running it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting a move on around here 😱


	21. :(

So I feel embarrassed about this, seeing as I made an update a while back addressing the long waits and problems I was having with the story, but ended it off with saying I'd complete it anyways. 

Now, I've just run into too many plot issues to be able to continue it, basically. :/ It's not stuff I can work around, unfortunately. And seeing this project just sitting there unresolved was stressing me out too much to write my OTHER stuff, so, I've decided that this story is officially discontinued. I had high hopes for this one, but it just didn't work out. 

Sorry to let down those who were following/enjoying the story. I can't write the rest of it. :( 

But, I will likely be doing one-shots and short, self-indulgence stories/reader inserts based on Vaun and Quinlan in the future. I've actually already got a random thing written out, I just haven't posted it lol. 

Anyway, the story will be probably be removed from my account in a little while. I had fun writing what I DID manage to write, though. Cheers everyone. 


End file.
